New Words for Old Desires
by PhoenixBlaine
Summary: It's been eight years since Kurt left Blaine.  By chance he runs into Blaine and the two fall haphazardly back into each other's lives.  They struggle to pick up the pieces of a shattered relationship, but it may be too late for them.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Like, literally, I think I have $4 in my bank account. I'm pretty sure if I owned Kurt/Blaine/Glee, that number would be a tad more substantial, but I don't, Ryan Murphy & Co. do._

_A/N: First off, the title/inspiration for this fic came from the song "Left and Leaving" by The Weakerthans, which is one of the most poetic set of lyrics I've heard in ages - check it out, it's good stuff. Also - I was really hesitant to post this, because I haven't written fanfiction in over three years (different fandom and different account), and I'm terrified of messing up something as beloved as Klaine. So, if you have any comments for me whatsoever - praise or critique with the latter DEFINITELY welcome - I would so, so appreciate your reviews. Thank you for reading!  
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><p>Kurt Hummel's flight had been delayed. Damn winter weather, it always did this. He was just trying to get back to Ohio in time for Carole's Christmas Eve dinner, a plan that seemed highly unlikely now. He checked his watch, pulling his Coach carry-on bag higher on his shoulder. Thank God La Guardia had a decent bar.<p>

He plopped down on a bar stool, ordering a martini to a gruff bartender who eyed him suspiciously. "I.D.?" the man asked.

Kurt sighed. He should be used to this by now – he'd been carded nearly every time he'd ever bought alcohol – but as he was only days away from being 30 years old, he would appreciate for one day if someone believed he was older than 12. Grudgingly, he threw his New York driver's license on the bar, which the bartender thoroughly inspected before handing it back.

He took a quick sip before his phone on the bar started vibrating. It was Carole. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hi honey." She had the friendliest voice of anyone Kurt had ever met in his life. "I saw on the Weather Channel that some flights out of New York have been delayed by a few hours – is yours one of them?"

"Yeah. It's probably going to be midnight or so by the time I get there. I'm so sorry, Carole – I know you wanted the whole family there tonight."

"It's not your fault, sweetheart! I'm sorry to hear it, though. We'll be sure to save you plenty to eat for when you get here. I was wondering, though – so I can figure out sleeping arrangements – will you be bringing anybody with you?"

The question was not a new one. For the past eight years, Carole had been asking him the same thing – it started more subtly, slipped carefully into the conversation, but now it was just part of the holiday ritual. "No, just me."

If there was any disappointment, she hid it well. "Well, you're plenty for us. Finn and Rachel got here about half an hour ago, and the twins have already knocked over the Christmas tree once." So _that_ was the noise in the background. "They'll all be sorry to hear you won't make it for dinner."

"Well, send them my love – " Kurt stopped abruptly. A girl, probably seven or eight, had slipped into the bar and was looking around frantically, tears streaming down her light olive skin. She locked eyes with Kurt, silently imploring for his aid as her little chin creased, her bottom lip stuck out miserably. "I've got to go – I'll see you soon, okay?" He hung up the phone quickly and tossed a few bills on the bar.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly when he approached her.

The little girl took his hand, gripping it tightly. "Can you help me find Daddy?"

"I – " He was going to ask her a few questions, try to do this rationally, but obviously she had other plans. She pulled him behind her out of the bar and onto an escalator.

"This is where I saw him last time," she said, dragging Kurt to an Auntie Anne's counter. "A bunch of people got in between us." The tears started welling in her eyes – dark eyes, pretty, familiar.

"It's going to be okay," he said soothingly. He'd never really liked kids, but this girl, with her messy black curls and her tight grip on his hand and the dimple in her chin that appeared when she stuck that lip out, broke his heart. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," she answered softly.

He knelt on one knee beside her so he was at eye level with her. "Hi Elizabeth," he said, extending a hand to her. "It's nice to meet you. My name's Kurt."

She threw her arms around his neck in a sudden embrace before pulling away, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Daddy's gonna be sad if I don't find him."

"We'll find him," he promised. "Let's go page him, okay?"

She nodded, taking his hand again and following him to a map, looking for some sort of information desk. It looked like they were fairly close to one.

"Lizzie!"

Kurt and Elizabeth both whirled around to find the voice. She dropped his hand and ran, and Kurt kept looking, not seeing either of them. He took off after her, heading to the voice.

He couldn't be surprised by it. He'd known who she was, he realized now, since he first saw her standing in that bar with the hair and the eyes and the wrinkled chin. They were all his, all features that Kurt had stared at for years.

It didn't matter how much he should have seen it coming. The sight of Blaine holding the child to him, his eyes closed in relief, looking as though he could cry at any second, was enough to knock Kurt breathless.

"…I don't care how nice he was, young lady," Blaine was saying, still gripping her tightly, "you are not to talk to strangers, you hear me? God, I'm so glad you're safe…"

She wiggled out of his arms quickly, frowning up at him. "He's not a stranger, Daddy," she insisted, crossing her arms. "You know Kurt."

Blaine followed her gaze until their eyes locked. Kurt waved shortly, a stiff smile on his face. They stood staring at each other, the hustle of the New York airport seeming to blur around them. Blaine looked as though he was physically frozen.

"Can we maybe get coffee?" Kurt asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt came back to the table balancing three drinks in his hands. "I thought you might like a hot chocolate," he said to Elizabeth with a wink. "I got whipped cream on top."

She readily accepted it, drinking it greedily. "Thanks, Kurt!"

Her words seemed to trigger something in Blaine, who spoke for the first time since they encountered Kurt. "Lizzie, he is your elder. What do you call him?"

"Thanks, Mr. Kurt," she amended. "It's yummy."

"You're welcome," Kurt laughed. Blaine's parenting was simultaneously sweet and unsettling.

Blaine took the steaming cup from the table. "Thanks," he said, taking a sip. Kurt watched the surprised look on his face, knowing he had put the perfect ratio of sugar to creamer in it. Blaine looked across the table, his dark eyes almost frightened. "You remember how I take my coffee," he noted softly.

Kurt laughed. "We had coffee together practically every day for five years, Blaine. How could I not?"

He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "And thank you for taking care of Lizziebeth," he said, ruffling the girl's hair lovingly. "I don't know what I would have done if…" He didn't finish the sentence, and Kurt thought it was probably for the best.

"She found me," Kurt said quietly. "She came and found me and asked me to help her find you." He looked at the little girl, who had taken the lid off and seemed to thoroughly enjoy drawing pictures in the melting whipped cream with the wooden stirrer. "One thing, though – she said you knew me. How did she – ?"

Blaine was blushing a deep red. "Daddy told me about you," she answered for him, blowing on the hot chocolate. "You used to be Daddy's boyfriend."

"Lizzie…" Blaine looked mortified, rubbing his eyes for a moment. "I wasn't just rehashing old romances with my seven-year-old," he assured Kurt, who was biting his lip in what was clearly amusement. "She found a picture of us from the study abroad trip in Paris. She wouldn't stop asking about you."

"Daddy doesn't have boyfriends anymore," she informed Kurt matter-of-factly. "You're in all the pictures in the box. There aren't any other boyfriends in the box."

"Okay, Lizzie," Blaine said quickly, the redness of his face sneaking down his neck and into his ears. "That's enough of that." He took a drink of his coffee, not meeting Kurt's eyes. "Sorry about that," he muttered.

"She's fine." Kurt took a sip of his mocha, trying hard not to stare at his ex-boyfriend. He hadn't seen him in eight years, and the years had definitely changed him – perhaps it was the toll of parenting, but this was not the boy he lived with while they went to NYU together. Wrinkles scattered his forehead, making him look perpetually worried. There were purple circles under his eyes. He looked as though he'd seen too much of the world, far more than Kurt had ever seen.

"So, are you on your way home?" Blaine asked. Elizabeth was snuggling up to him, yawning as she nestled into his side. "I mean to Lima. Are you spending Christmas with the family?"

"Yeah – the weather's putting a dent in my plans. You?"

"The same. We're staying with my parents in Westerville – they're still tickled pink at the fact that they have a grandchild. It was definitely not something they were expecting from me." He smiled lovingly down at his daughter who seemed to have fallen asleep.

Kurt just nodded. "That's understandable." He fumbled over his words for a second. "And what about her – you know, her mother? Does she not want to see her for Christmas?"

Blaine looked up at him, those eyes so tired. "Her mother isn't too involved," he said shortly. "God, this is weird. Running into you, you finding Lizzie, all of this…we've lived in the same city for eight years, Kurt, and this is just now happening."

"Well, it is New York." He stopped for a moment, just looking at the man in front of him. The Blaine he'd left had been a scared little boy who had too-big dreams about marriage and eternal love and family, dreams that Kurt couldn't share. The Blaine before him was different. Still lovely, still optimistic, still wearing that beautiful heart on his sleeve – but different. Sadder. "So – what have you been doing? Still working in theatre?"

"God no," Blaine laughed. "I auditioned for three shows after I graduated, and I was done. Before, I could handle the rejection because I could come back to school and go to class and forget about it. When I was supposed to be making a living from it – well, it's just a different story. Plus, I had Lizzie to think about. I went back to school, got my doctorate – "

"Seriously?" Kurt couldn't help being impressed. "What in?"

"Literature, of course."

Kurt nodded quickly. Of course. Blaine had been the busiest boy at NYU – double major in theatre and English, double minor in music and history. But that's just how Blaine was. "So what are you doing now, _Dr. Anderson_?"

Blaine laughed aloud, his face suddenly light, carefree like it used to be. "Oh God, don't, not even my students call me that. I've taught at Marymount Manhattan for three years now, where my students happen to call me Blaine."

"Blaine Warbler, a stuffy old prof," Kurt giggled, his pale eyes glinting. "Who'd have thought it?"

A mock-offended expression invaded Blaine's face. "I'll have you know, sir, that I am one of the cool teachers. I don't even wear tweed." The smile began to fade ever so slowly as they looked at each other silently for a minute, unspoken questions hanging in the air between them. "And what about you? Last we talked, you'd just been cast in the chorus of the _Bye Bye Birdie _revival. Still playing teenage boys?"

Kurt laughed. "I'll have _you _know that I just finished an Off-Broadway run in _Company _in which I played Bobby. A grown man."

A thick eyebrow shot up. "Bobby doesn't count – the whole point of the show is his Peter Pan complex. So counting that as a grown-up role is cheating." He bit his lip. "I wish I'd known about it. I'm sure you were brilliant. And headlining Off-Broadway? That's great."

He shrugged. "There was a lot of talk about it transferring to Broadway – it'd have been a hell of a break – but that all fell through."

"Bobby," Blaine repeated, shaking his head. "Wow."

Kurt tilted his head, an eyebrow cocked. "What?"

"_Passionate as hell, but always in control. _It's just – fitting." He knew he'd probably said too much, but what did he have to lose? "Your voice is lower," he observed suddenly. "That's what it is."

"What _what_ is?"

"The difference. Your speaking voice is lower than it was."

"All those years of playing straight roles," he answered drily. "Apparently my voice was a dead giveaway."

Kurt's cell phone on the table started vibrating violently. Blaine glanced at it automatically to see who it was before quickly looking down, remembering that such things were not his place anymore.

Kurt looked at the number. "Shit, it's my agent," he swore softly. "Sorry, but I need to take this."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." Blaine stirred his drink restlessly as Kurt jumped up from the table, answering the phone as he walked away.

Kurt glanced back. Linda, his agent, had just called to wish him a Merry Christmas and to see when he'd be back in the city, but she kept talking. Normally he wouldn't have cared, but Blaine was sitting at the table with that pensive, scrunched face he got when he was worried, and Kurt just wanted to be in his presence again.

"Is everything okay, Kurt? You seem distracted." Linda was perceptive as ever.

"Oh, yeah, it's fine – I'm in the airport and it's pretty loud." Blaine was chewing on the end of the wooden stirrer nervously, an action Kurt had seen thousands of times.

She let him go quickly, instructing him to call her whenever he was back from Ohio. He moved to rejoin Blaine, but before he could sit, a voice rang through the speakers, calling out Kurt's flight number, announcing that they were now boarding. "I should go," he said, smiling ruefully.

Blaine nodded. "That's our flight too, obviously." He stood, looking at his ex with trepidation, not knowing quite what he was expected to do. Finally, he extended a hand for Kurt to shake. "It's – it's good to see you, Kurt," he said, and the sincerity in his eyes was staggering.

"You too." The feeling of Blaine's hand electrified him. It had been eight years since he'd touched that square, warm hand that once knew its way around every contour of Kurt's body, and suddenly, without warning, Kurt felt a desperate need to hold onto the hand forever. But he let go, watching as Blaine gently shook his daughter awake.

With a nod, Kurt left for the gate. He couldn't wait to walk with Blaine and Elizabeth. Not now.

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><p><em>An: Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/n: Wow, guys – I just wanted to say thanks. I woke up this morning and my inbox was completely flooded with a few reviews and a TON of favorites/story alert notifications! Thanks – I really appreciate your support so much. _

_In this chapter, we start to see why they broke up in the first place, which I'm a bit nervous about because I know my headcanon!Kurt is a bit different than a lot of people's. So it would be great to reactions! If you have any comments/criticisms for me, I'd love to hear them._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>They were cuddling on their couch in the tiny New York apartment watching television when Kurt left Blaine. They were both about to start their last semesters as NYU. It was a Saturday morning, a few weeks before Christmas. They had skipped their morning run in favor of a lazy day, lounging in sweatpants and hoodies and watching reruns of "The Golden Girls" (Kurt's choice) and eating Chocolate Fudge Pop-Tarts (Blaine's). It was on a commercial: there was a man with a thick accent advertising a system of non-stick pots and pans that were somehow superior to every other non-stick pot or pan.<p>

"We should get that!" Blaine had said, giddy with enthusiasm. "Kurt, the closest thing to cookware we have is microwavable Tupperware. If we pitched in $40 each, we could make spaghetti or whatever whenever we wanted. It's an investment."

And then Kurt knew it was over. He knew that Blaine wanted security, a stable lifestyle with a stable partner with whom he'd gone halfsies on the cookware. Blaine wanted one of them to cook dinner on that cookware every night. And Kurt was too young to settle.

When he told Blaine he was leaving, Blaine begged him to stay. He asked him why. Kurt told him that he was missing out on too much, that he'd only ever slept with Blaine and wasn't ready for them to become an old married couple at age 22. Blaine asked if there was someone else, and Kurt technically didn't lie when he said no, because he hadn't fucked that boy in his improv class yet, even if it was just a matter of time. He told him that he needed distance for the sake of his career, that their relationship was a distraction from what he really wanted.

Blaine helped Kurt pack that night. Tears running down his face, he folded the designer shirts with meticulous care. It cemented Kurt's decision to leave. He couldn'tstay when Blaine was so insufferably perfect.

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><p>Blaine and Elizabeth were five rows behind Kurt on the plane. They'd exchanged a brief awkward nod when they boarded the plane, and ever since, Kurt couldn't stop thinking about him. He wondered what they were doing – was Elizabeth sleeping? Was Blaine reading? He longed to turn around and spy, but didn't.<p>

The flight to Ohio wasn't a long one, really. Kurt pushed his earphones in, scrolling through his music restlessly until shuffle decided upon _A Little Night Music _for him. Sondheim. Kurt needed some Sondheim in his life. He closed his eyes, letting the waltzing melodies and complex harmonies take him away from the plane, away from the world where Blaine had a daughter and looked so pensive with his coffee.

It was an hour later when Kurt stood at a distance, watching as Blaine pulled two suitcases from the baggage claim carousel – a large, sophisticated black suitcase and a smaller, hot pink one, which Kurt would hazard to guess was Elizabeth's. Maybe. They were walking away, Blaine trying to hold both suitcases and Elizabeth's hand, and Kurt couldn't stand it.

"Blaine!" he called out. He bit his lip as Blaine spun around, that beautiful hope alive in his eyes and on those slightly parted lips.

"Yeah?" Blaine hadn't moved, standing still as Kurt hurried towards him.

"I just…" God, he couldn't do this. "I wanted to tell you guys Merry Christmas. I didn't do that earlier."

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Kurt," Elizabeth squeaked joyfully. "You should have Christmas with us!"

"Lizzie, he's going to be with his family," Blaine scolded softly. "He doesn't want to…"

"Can I see you again?" The words fled his lips, too abrupt to control. He was blushing now. "I don't mean to impose. And I'll understand if you don't, I just – you _move_..." The phrase was almost completely out of his mouth before he had time to think about its implications. He knew it wasn't fair as soon as he said it, not fair to bring back the familiar words when Kurt was the one who had broken their whispered, teenaged vows.

The breath caught in the back of Blaine's throat. "Yes." He quickly ripped a notepad out of his coat pocket and scribbled a series of numbers on it, his handwriting that same combination of exacting and excited that Kurt remembered. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that Blaine Anderson was the only person in the world who still wrote down numbers instead of texting them or putting them directly in his phone, and somehow it was the most beautiful thing in the world. "That's my number," Blaine breathed, handing him the scrap. "Just let me know when you're free."

Kurt nodded, storing the paper in his pocket quickly. "Okay," he answered. "I guess…I guess I'll see you around, then."

Blaine nodded. "Okay."

"Bye, Mr. Kurt!" Elizabeth said, thrilled with her new acquaintance, throwing her arms around his legs with reckless abandon.

Kurt's eyes met Blaine's, and they smiled together. Kurt leaned down to her level. "You be sure to stay with your dad, okay?"

She nodded, releasing him, and with a quick wave, the two were gone.

Kurt walked slowly outside, the winter wind burning his face. It was snowing gently now – beautiful, powdery snow like he and Blaine had once lain in, promising to be with each other forever. He shook off the memory, glancing around until he saw a familiar SUV. He skipped to it, allowing himself to be wrapped in the outstretched arms of his stepbrother, who was standing beside the vehicle with a wide smile on his face. "Hey buddy," Finn said, squeezing him hard. "Merry Christmas, man."

"You too," Kurt said, untangling himself and climbing into the passenger seat.


	4. Chapter 4

"Uncle Kurt!"

The sound rang through the room as soon as Kurt crossed the threshold. "Hey boys," he said, going down on a knee and taking a twin in each arm. "You're up late. Isn't it past your bedtime? You want Santa to come, don't you?"

"Mama said we could wait," said Ben, the elder of the two by about half an hour.

"Yeah," chipped in Sean. "We wanted to see you!"

_God, _Kurt thought, _they're four already._ They were adorable – identical twins with boundless energy and their mother's eyes. "You've gotten so tall! That's something you definitely didn't get from your mom."

"Oh, haha," came Rachel's fake laugh as she came down the stairs. "Just because you turned out to be a giant late in your development doesn't mean you have to mock those of us who weren't as fortunate." She smiled, reaching up to hug him. "It's good to see you, Kurt."

"You too." He kissed her cheek. Motherhood – or maybe it was adulthood – had been good for Rachel Berry-Hudson. She'd relaxed a good bit, keeping her compassionate, ambitious nature without the obnoxiousness she radiated in high school (her fashion taste, however, hadn't improved. Her Christmas sweater was nothing short of disturbing). Kurt realized, hugging her, how desperately he missed her, how much he wished she'd moved to New York with him like they'd planned in when they were young. He could use a friend.

"Now to bed, boys, or I'm telling Santa to take your presents back." Sufficiently scared with their mother's threat, the twins hugged their uncle goodnight and ran upstairs.

"I'll be up in a minute," Finn called after them. He gave his wife a quick peck. "Where's Mom and Burt?"

"They went on to bed. They were sorry they didn't wait up to see you, Kurt, but Carole had quite a headache – and besides, I still have to wrap their presents, so I encouraged them to go on."

Kurt nodded. Trust Rachel to have an ulterior motive at all times.

Calls of "Daddy!" rang from the upper level, and Finn sighed, shouting, "I'm coming," scaling the stairs three at a time.

Rachel disappeared into the kitchen only to return within a few minutes carrying two glasses of red wine. She handed one to Kurt and sat on the couch next to him, sitting daintily on her legs. "So," she said, taking a sip, "boy troubles?"

"Why do you say that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Kurt, please. A little credit. I'm not Finn. You look like you just saw a ghost."

Kurt hesitated. "Yeah. I ran into – an ex at the airport. It was a weird reunion."

"An ex?" Rachel laughed gently. "I didn't know you'd dated anyone long enough to have _those _floating around." When her joke didn't seem to lighten the situation, she put her hand on his forearm. "Are you okay? Want to sing about it?"

A small grin appeared on his tight lips. "No thanks, Rachel. Though I always appreciate the offer."

"I knew I could get a smile." She slipped her hand up to his smooth cheek, patting it lovingly in a way that would have been strange had it been anyone but Rachel. "I'm sorry you're upset."

"I'll be fine." He felt Blaine's phone number practically burning a hole in his pocket and got off the couch, yawning gratuitously for Rachel's sake. "I think I'm going to bed. It's been a long day."

"All right, dear. Sleep well. See you in the morning."

Kurt climbed the stairs to his old bedroom, the one Burt built for him after the wedding. It was decorated meticulously, reflecting his every interest as a seventeen-year-old. There was a collage beside the bed – his programs from Nationals his junior and senior years, snapshots of him with various members of the Glee club, playbills from the National Tours he'd seen in high school, clippings from Vogue of hot new collections he'd drooled over, a pressed four-leafed clover that Finn, of all people, gave him. There were gaps in the collage, five or six of them, where once hung pictures of Kurt and Blaine, pictures of just Blaine, love letters, and the word "courage." They were stored in a shoebox under his bed, from where he'd torn them down the first Christmas after their breakup but couldn't throw them away.

He stripped off his clothes, folding them delicately and laying them on the chair in front of his vanity and retrieving a pair of lounge pants from his dresser. He flipped the lamp off and climbed into bed, into the bed he'd shared with Blaine thousands of times, half-expecting to smell the musky scent he'd caught ever so slightly earlier that night, the combination of expensive cologne and something exclusively Blaine.

He pulled out his cellphone and the little note, staring at the number so excitedly scribbled on the scrap of paper. He was in over his head. He didn't _want _this, he didn't want to lead Blaine on and break his heart again. He didn't want it.

He dialed the number quickly.

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><p><em>An: Thanks for reading, friends! Please review! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/n: First, I want to apologize that it's been a few days since last I updated this – I'm trying to be consistent about publishing frequently, but I've reached the end of the section that I had written out beforehand, and I'm just going at it, chapter-by-chapter now. I really hope you enjoy this – also, __**be warned that M rating applies starting with this chapter**__, just so you know. Thanks for all your support, and as always, I love to hear from my readers!_

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><p>"I'll be honest with you, Kurt," Blaine said, mixing drinks expertly at the minibar, "when you asked if we could meet up, I really didn't think you meant tonight."<p>

The Anderson pool house seemed smaller than it had a decade ago. They had refurnished it since Kurt last visited, adding the bar, the big leather couch, and the futon on which Blaine was obviously planning on sleeping – a stack of sheets and two pillows were resting on it.

Kurt accepted the cosmopolitan Blaine extended with a smile – he'd been obsessed with them when he was twenty-one. Trust Blaine to remember something like that. He took a sip as Blaine sat beside him on the couch. "I didn't either," he admitted. "Is this okay, Blaine?"

Blaine didn't answer for a minute, his brow furrowed lightly. "I'm not sure," he said weighing each word carefully. "It's been so long, Kurt. It's just…weird. Being together, here, alone."

Kurt nodded. Weird was an understatement. "I know. I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Kurt couldn't help smiling at the immediacy of Blaine's response. Blaine was blushing, a little grin on his lips. "Sorry. I just haven't really processed all of this yet. I'm just – God, I'm so glad you helped Lizzie. Of all the people in the world she could have found…" Blaine trailed off, unsaid words lingering on his still-open mouth.

Kurt bit his lip. "That was one of the reasons I wanted to see you," he admitted. "Curiosity, I guess."

Blaine smiled. "That's your subtle way of asking about the whole child situation, right?"

"Well, it's pretty apparent that she's not adopted. It's really unsettling, actually, seeing you in eight-year-old girl form."

"Yeah, she looks like me." Blaine hesitated. "It was the week you left." His voice was low, so low Kurt had to strain to hear him. He didn't look at Kurt. "I was – I was pretty torn up. A friend of the family, Sydney – you never met her, did you? – well, she was in town and wanted to get together. We got severely trashed that night, and about a month and a half later, she called to tell me she was pregnant."

Kurt's face was statuesque – blank, unreadable. "You always did get a little girl-happy when you drank," he said after a moment.

A little bark of a laugh escaped Blaine's lips. "Yeah," he conceded ruefully. "So it seems." He glanced up to meet Kurt's gaze for a split second. "Sydney and I decided on an abortion. I offered to pay. We were too young to raise a kid, you know, and we weren't even together, obviously…" The way Blaine avoided his eyes broke Kurt's heart. "I was – I didn't take the breakup well, Kurt. I was in a bad place, you know, really depressed. I just wanted somebody I could love, unconditionally, absolutely. Somebody who wasn't – well, somebody who wasn't you." The statement was absolutely straightforward and entirely free of blame. "And I knew it was kind of a rare opportunity." His lips curled into a mischievous smile. "I really didn't plan on impregnating too many people. There isn't enough booze in the world for _that_. So I begged her to keep it, to have the baby and let me raise it." He ran his fingers through his hair pensively. "I was so young. Twenty-two is too young to raise a kid. I hadn't even graduated yet when all this happened. I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

Kurt sat in silence across from him, adjusting to the fact that this girl's existence was due mainly to him, to the fact that he broke Blaine's heart. "She's lovely," he said softly.

"She's my world. I love her more than I've ever loved anything. She's perfect – precocious and big-hearted and too smart for her own good." Blaine was staring intently at the floor now. "I missed you so much when she was born. Everything she did – her first words, her first steps – I had to force myself not to call you about it." He shook his head. "She was telling the truth," he said, making eye contact finally, holding Kurt's gaze with his deep hazel eyes. "It might sound pathetic, but I haven't dated. I – I hooked up a lot when she was younger, but every time it got any more serious than that I ran. So I gave up." He propped his head up on his fist, leaning on the arm of the couch. "I – I didn't get over it."

Kurt nodded, not quite sure how to respond. "And _Elizabeth_?"

Blaine laughed. "Dumb move, maybe, but I couldn't help it. Every time I thought about names, I kept coming back to it. To this day, Kurt Hummel, that's the only middle name I know for you."

"It was my mom's name."

"I know." Blaine's eyes flickered closed, and Kurt knew that he was regretting all that he'd said out-of-turn. "Look, don't think I'm desperate, like I keep your picture next to my pillow and cry to it every night or anything like that." He looked earnest. "It's not like that. But Kurt – if I said I didn't miss you, I'd be lying."

Kurt nodded, breathless. "I've missed you, too," he whispered, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

Blaine pulled away quickly, his breathing labored, staring at Kurt with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said instantly. "Shit, Blaine, I shouldn't – "

He was cut off by Blaine's lips against his, his deft hand cupping the back of Kurt's neck and pulling him toward him, hard. Kurt shuddered against him, opening his mouth automatically. He sighed into the kiss, electricity shooting through his veins as their tongues entwined, tasting that familiar flavor that was so exclusively Blaine along with something else he almost recognized but couldn't quite, a deep chemical taste. He flicked his eyes open for a second, drinking in the sight in the last seconds of the kiss before Blaine pulled himself away, getting up and pacing around the little room.

"Kurt, we can't – " He was running his hands through his hair nervously as he paced. "We can't

do this. Not like this."

"I know." Kurt stood up, wishing he could run to Blaine and hold him and make him stop pacing and relax, breathe, tell him it's going to be okay. But he knew that would only exacerbate the situation. "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault, I just – I need a second."

"It isn't your fault that I kissed you, Blaine." Kurt was reaching for his coat. "I should have known I shouldn't have – I'll see you around, okay?"

"No, please!" Blaine stopped pacing immediately, and he looked at Kurt with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. "Please don't leave."

Kurt just nodded, walking slowly toward Blaine until they crashed into each other, holding onto each other as though the other might disappear otherwise. They kissed and touched, closing all distance between them, until Kurt felt himself being pushed slowly back to the couch and Blaine was on top of him, grinding his hips downward, and Kurt wondered how he'd ever survived anything as perfect as this before.

"Please," Kurt gasped, and Blaine pulled away quickly to see what was wrong. Kurt stared straight into Blaine's eyes for a moment. "Please fuck me."

There was nothing lustful, nothing carnal in the way he said it, nothing but beautiful desperation, but Blaine was moaning, attacking Kurt's throat with his mouth and his tongue, pulling roughly at the buttons separating him from Kurt's bare chest.

Kurt heard Blaine gasp when the smooth gray shirt fell on the couch and blushed. He didn't look the way he did eight years ago – sure, his face still looked like a ten-year-old kid's, but his body had definitely benefitted from the constant dance classes combined with the obsessive gym habit he'd developed after their breakup. The last time Blaine saw him in a state of undress, the smooth stomach wasn't lined with sculpted abs, the muscles in his forearms didn't ripple when he moved, and his upper arms definitely weren't defined like they were now. Kurt had always hated his body growing up, but now it looked like the body of a man, and he couldn't help but be excited as Blaine's eyes drank every inch of the exposed skin.

"Fuck, Kurt," Blaine breathed with a nervous laugh. "Can I keep my shirt on?"

"Not a chance." Kurt's hands had already made their way to the bottom of Blaine's sweater – cashmere, he noted in approval – gently running his hands over the warm skin beneath. When he pulled the shirt over the head completely, he saw an entirely new Blaine – self-conscious, uncomfortable, and threatened. There was no reason to be – age and a desk job had softened the once-tight torso a little, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it was a look he could pull off.

Suddenly he was holding Blaine's face in his hands. "You're beautiful," he whispered before kissing him deeply.

It felt so familiar yet so new, rediscovering every secret of Blaine's body. His hands weren't as soft as they once and his shoulder were knotted far more tightly, but his skin still put off that lovely heat, a welcome contrast to the cold-natured Kurt, and he still had that same beautiful scent. Touching, kissing, and holding, they relived every memory, every touch from before.

The dark-haired boy was kissing his way down Kurt's body, removing any offending clothing on the way. He stared at Kurt, completely naked, with unfettered wonder. Tentatively, he placed small, wet kisses on the beautifully defined hip bones. "Blaine," Kurt managed to say, "do you have anything?"

Blaine's mouth stopped its ministrations instantly, and Kurt looked down to see Blaine staring at him, his lovely eyes surprised and infinitely sad. They'd never used protection together before - why would they, they were young and in love. Kurt had been a virgin anyway, and Blaine had been safe with the only boy he'd been with before Kurt, so condoms had never entered the picture with them. But they were grownups now, Kurt reminded himself. Grownups who had one night stands and multiple sexual partners and weren't always as careful as they should be. They weren't seventeen anymore, and grownups used condoms.

Blaine seemed to have reached the same conclusion, breaking their gaze. "Umm, yeah," he said, fumbling in his suitcase for a second and retrieving a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

"For someone who claims not to be getting any, you're certainly prepared," Kurt remarked with a giggle.

"I'm a regular boy scout," Blaine answered, pinning him on the couch and kissing him roughly, grinding against him as he went.

They had sex that night on the couch. It wasn't making love, the slow, beautiful intimacy they shared in Kurt's bedroom after everyone was asleep when they were seventeen. Nor was it fucking, the way they had when they were twenty-one and trying to save their relationship carnally, loudly, so loudly the landlord interrupted them. No, Kurt decided, it was sex, a physical deed, one each of them done countless times, body against body, endlessly human. It wasn't the mystical spiritual experience it had once seemed.

It was, however, perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt snuggled into the warmth beside him, sighing in contentment at the unfamiliar comfort. A pair of soft lips rubbed lightly against the nape of his neck, and suddenly he was awake. There was sunlight streaming in from the window. "Fuck," Kurt hissed, glancing at the clock, reading 8:17. They would be up at his house for sure - the twins always managed to wake up at 6 anyway, so he knew it would be worse on Christmas.

He stood up, regretting instantly their choice to sleep on the floor. Well, maybe choice wasn't the best word for it - that's where they ended up, and really, Kurt had no intention of sleeping there at all, but Blaine had been too comfortable, too loving and familiar and warm, and a few minutes of spooning had turned into oversleeping on the rug, naked and surrounded by throw pillows from the couch.

He was pulling on his clothes, wrinkled from their tenure on the floor, when he glanced back down at Blaine, still sound asleep. It was the little things that hit him with such a strong feeling of nostalgia, of longing that it took his breath away. It was the way Blaine could sleep through anything but made little whimpering noises when Kurt pulled away, the way he grabbed the nearest pillow to fill the absence, the way the dark eyelashes trembled against the smooth olive skin.

Quietly, Kurt strode over, pulling his coat on before leaning down and planting a kiss on that forehead, free of wrinkles for the first time since Kurt had ran into him. He caressed the man's face gently before reaching for a blanket from the futon and covering him with it. With a last glance, he grabbed his car keys, thankful that he'd parked behind the pool house so the Andersons wouldn't see his vehicle if they looked out the window, and opened the door.

Standing in the doorway with a lovely smile and a red pea coat was Elizabeth, her dark hair more vibrant beside the snow. "Good morning, Mr. Kurt," she beamed. "Nana and Grandpa told me to get Daddy so we can open presents. Are you having Christmas with us?"

"I – uh – Elizabeth, will you do me a favor?"

"Probably," she answered slyly, and Kurt had to fight back a laugh. Yes, this was Blaine's daughter, through and through.

"Just don't tell anybody you saw me here, okay? I don't – I don't think your dad would like it if your grandparents knew. Can it be our little secret?"

"Of course!" She hugged him then ran past him to her father's sleeping form. She turned back to look at Kurt, still standing in the doorway in horror. "Mr. Kurt, what happened to Daddy's clothes?"

Deciding quickly that running was his best option, he turned and strode to the SUV (Finn let him borrow it when he was home from New York so he wouldn't have to rent a car), climbing in and letting his head fall on the steering wheel. A moment of passion was one thing, but spending the night was a different story entirely. Especially when they were spending the night only minutes away from Blaine's parents and seven-year-old daughter, when she could walk in at any give moment.

He glanced down at the cup holder, where the light on his cell phone was blinking rapidly. _Shit_. He pick it up gingerly, as though it may explode at any second, cringing at the sheer number of missed calls (two from Burt, five from Finn) and texts (three from Rachel and a whopping nine from Finn). He shot a quick response to Finn's most recent text ("Where the fuck are you, dude? Burt is freaking out, and so are the rest of us,") saying that he was on his way. He pushed the keys into the ignition and sped out of the driveway, trying desperately to focus on the slick roads instead of the boy he was driving away from.

Blaine was in love with him. He'd known that since the airport. Why the hell Kurt then decided to pursue it, to see him again when he knew perfectly well that he couldn't reciprocate any feelings Blaine had for him seemed blurry now. He'd wanted to do it, wanted to see Blaine and kiss him and sleep with him. But he knew Blaine, knew that he wouldn't be okay with a simple reunion fuck. But he pursued it anyway.

It wasn't fair to Blaine, he decided. He would call Blaine in the afternoon and try to explain, try to tell him that it wasn't his fault, it was all Kurt, and maybe Blaine wouldn't hate him.

Kurt came in the back door as quietly as possible, hoping to present his alibi before anyone had a chance to cause a commotion. He tiptoed into the living room where his family was gathered, taking a breath. "I'm so sorry, everybody," he said quickly, gathering their attention instantly. "As soon as I went to bed last night, Mercedes texted me – I didn't even know she was going to be in town – and I ended up falling asleep catching up with her, and I left my phone in the car. I promise I wasn't trying to sneak off and abandon all of you." He turned to Sean and Ben, who were sitting as close as humanly possible to the pile of presents beneath the tree. "Sorry to keep you guys waiting."

A pair of sturdy arms encircled him, and Kurt melted into his father's embrace. Since his second heart attack three years ago, Burt had been more affectionate, more open with his feelings than ever before, and Kurt took a breath, finding comfort in his father's strength. "Hi Dad," he whispered.

"Good to see you, kiddo," Burt said, releasing him with a pat on the back. "Gave us a scare this morning."

"Can we open presents now?" Sean asked, clearly not too concerned with his uncle's welfare.

"Yes," Carole said, kissing her stepson's forehead and leading him to the couch. "Let's get started."

And suddenly all was well; the twins tore through wrapping paper and screamed at their new toys, Burt smiled when he opened the traditional box of cordial cherries Kurt had gotten him every year since he was six, and Rachel constantly commented that Burt and Carole were absolutely spoiling the twins. The only one who didn't seem entirely enthralled by the Christmas festivities was Finn, who had been eyeing Kurt suspiciously since he came in.

Rachel was corralling the kids, trying unsuccessfully to get them to abandon their new toys for a few minutes to help clean up the aftermath. Carole got up quickly, announcing that she was going to start the brunch and nodding at Kurt, who had established his place as her sous-chef. He followed her down the hallway to the kitchen when Finn cornered him.

"So, where were you really last night?"

Kurt turned, the color draining from his face. "What do you mean?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "Kurt, come on. Mercedes was posting yesterday on Facebook just how much she wished she was spending Christmas in Lima. So unless you flew out to Seattle last night, I'm pretty sure you're full of shit."

Kurt hesitated, drawing closer to his stepbrother and lowering his voice. "It's complicated," he said softly.

"I have time."

"Finn, just – I got together with an old friend."

"Who's that?"

Kurt glared. Apparently Finn was not settling for any bullshit. "I hooked up," he whispered furiously. "I hit it off with a guy at the airport, we exchanged phone numbers, I called him and we fucked at his place, okay? I didn't mean to spend the night, we fell asleep and my phone was in the car so I didn't hear anyone calling. Happy?"

Finn nodded. "I figured. I was just curious."

"What? Would you have preferred me say _that _when I got here? I'm sure that's exactly what you want your four-year-olds to hear."

"You'll notice that I didn't call you out on it in there," Finn said levelly. "So this guy you hooked up with. Anything to do with the ex you ran into? You know, that you told Rachel about?"

In that moment, Kurt regretted ever speaking to Rachel. "Where is this going, Finn?"

"Listen, I'm not trying to get in your business – "

"Could have fooled me."

" – I'm just saying that we'd all be happy for you. You know, if you found somebody." He looked sincere, a sad half-smile on his mouth. "You're lonely, Kurt. Mom and Burt are both worried about you, Rachel has a huge list of guys she wants you to meet, and – well, I'm worried too. The last person you've been serious enough about to bring home has been gone for eight years. Don't you think it's time to move on?"

Kurt stared at the wall, feeling almost faint. "It was Blaine," he whispered, his eyes suddenly swimming with abrupt emotion.

Finn's eyes widened. "What?"

"Please don't tell anyone." Wiping his eyes quickly, he hurried into the kitchen, where Carole had already started on the brunch.

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><p><em>An: Thanks for reading and reviewing, friends! I love feedback. :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/n: Hi readers! Thanks so much for reading - I appreciate it. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter, honestly, so I would love feedback on it (plus, reviews make me far more inclined to update quickly - just sayin'). I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again. :)_

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><p>There was a short knock on Kurt's door. "Come in," he called softly, knowing that the twins were already in bed a few doors down.<p>

Finn entered quickly, closing the door and sitting on the bed beside his brother. "So – Blaine, huh?" he asked pensively.

Kurt nodded. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "You've been processing the news all day. I'm just amazed nobody noticed the fact that you've been staring at me like I've grown three heads."

"Yeah, but – but _Blaine_." Finn sighed. "I didn't see it coming. Nobody's even said his name in eight years on the chance that it'll upset you. And then you tell me you're with him again."

"I'm not," he said quickly. "I'm not – we're not together. It just happened."

Finn waited, knowing the explanation was coming now.

"We met up in La Guardia," he began. "I found his daughter –" he noted Finn's double take at the word but ignored it – "and she led me to him. We had coffee, I told him I wanted to see him again, then I called him last night and went over to his house."

Finn nodded mutely, staring at the pattern on the comforter. "How's he doing?" he asked finally.

"You've missed him." It wasn't a question.

"Hell, Kurt, the guy was going to be in my wedding before you broke up. We hung out practically every day of senior year and every holiday while you were in college. He lived with me and Rachel the summer you went to Italy. We texted all through every NFL championship game we weren't together for. We were close." He shook his head. "So what else?"

Kurt swallowed nervously. "I went over. He's staying in his parents' pool house, we talked, and I kissed him. One thing led to another. We fell asleep together." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you still love him?" Finn met his eyes earnestly. "I mean, it's important, Kurt. I'm your brother, and I love you, but you left him, and judging from the way he loved you, I have a feeling it broke his heart more than he'd ever let on. And I'm not saying I'm on his side. But you can't just toy with him. If you're not serious about him, he needs to know that."

"I don't _want _it," he said wretchedly. "A relationship. Marriage. A kid. I don't want those things, Finn; I haven't wanted them since I was eighteen." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "But I want him."

Finn stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna be straight with you, Kurt. I'm sorry you don't want those things. Those things are easily the best things that have ever happened to me, and honestly, you'd be a hell of a lot happier if you just let someone, _anyone _in your life for once. But you can't just mess with Blaine when all you want to do is fuck. I'm sorry, but that's just shit and I'm pretty sure you know it."

Kurt bristled. "I'm not some kind of whore, Finn. And it's not like I'm sleeping with him out of spite. It was nice, being with him. Comfortable."

Finn didn't answer for a minute, heading slowly towards the door. He turned around, his hand on the doorknob. "You know, Kurt," he said, "it might have been comfortable for you, but I think Blaine deserves a little bit more than that. Don't you?"

With that, he was gone.

Kurt's phone vibrated beside him on the bed. _Can we meet? Our place? _ The text read.

He typed a quick yes and grabbed his keys, making his way towards the middle of nowhere.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hi ladies and gentlemen. First, I know it's been a while since last I updated, so I'm sorry for that – I've been working on a few one-shots that should be posted soon, so you can check those out if you'd like! Second, I've gotten some feedback that this story does tend to lean in Blaine's favor a bit and show some of the not-so-nice sides of Kurt, so just a tad of my headcanon – Kurt falls first, but Blaine falls hardest. That's how it seems to me every time I watch them together on the show, so I think that Blaine would be the one who gets massively hurt in any breakup. Just giving a tad of insight to the crazy angsty way my brain works. Anyway, I'd love to hear any feedback! Reviews are loved and appreciated. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!_

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><p>When Kurt saw it, a quick breath caught in his throat. The last time he'd visited the little grove, just off the highway but with enough tree coverage to make it the perfect place to go parking, they had been juniors at Dalton. They discovered it one afternoon after class, driving around feverishly when Blaine's roommate wouldn't leave the little dorm room, and it had become their favorite spot to meet up in the middle of the night. And after the first time Burt walked in on them in an extremely compromising position, the grove was cemented as their safe haven for any time that there was a possibility of parents being home.<p>

A smooth black Nissan was parked there, barely leaving room for the SUV far enough from the road to not draw attention. Blaine quickly hopped out of the car, and Kurt couldn't help noticing how dashing he looked in the snow, wearing dark jeans, a black pea coat, and a nice gray scarf – and were those _glasses?_

Blaine climbed into the passenger seat – they _were _glasses, rectangular thick-rimmed glasses that he pulled off and pushed into his coat pocket – and smiled hesitantly. "Thanks for coming," he said softly.

"It's the least I could do." Kurt shot him a thin smile in return. "Blaine, what are we doing?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "I have no idea, Kurt."

"I don't want a relationship," he blurted out, guilt seeming to seep from him. "I'm sorry if you thought –"

"Kurt, I know." Blaine was laughing softly. "After all these years, you really think I don't understand you? You left without waking me up, Kurt. I'm not stupid."

"I overslept."

"I know." Blaine rubbed his temples lightly. "I didn't ask you here to confess my undying love, Kurt. I just wanted to talk."

"Right." Kurt shifted in his seat. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. About you. Me. How life's been." He hesitated. "Last night was a mistake, and I'm sorry it happened, but I still – I want this. Friendship. Hell, not even that. Catharsis, some kind of closure."

He just nodded, unable to speak.

Blaine gave him his quirky sideways smile. "So, what's been going on for the past eight years?"

Kurt laughed. "Well, I graduated college, did precisely two shows on Broadway – chorus roles – toured with _Mamma Mia, A Chorus Line, _and _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,_ did some Off-Broadway work –"

"I was wondering about the other stuff, Kurt," Blaine interrupted him gently. "The things I can't read on your Wikipedia page."

Kurt's eyes widened. "I have a Wikipedia page?"

Blaine laughed aloud. "Yes," he said. "My recent creeping informs me that you're quite the fan favorite in the obscure New York actor circles."

"I've had a lot of support." The humility in his voice sounded fake in his own ears. "Well, I have a little apartment in SoHo. Honestly, I don't spend much time in it."

"Pets?"

Kurt laughed. "I haven't had a pet since I had to flush Bernadette."

Blaine's eyes shot open. "Bernadette the beta? You killed her?"

"I resent that!" Kurt tried to suppress his giggle. "I remembered to feed her and everything. I loved that fish. She had a pretty long life, all things considered."

"You know, that was the only thing I was bitter about – the fact that you took Bernie with you when you left." He chuckled softly, staring out the windshield at the snow falling on the trees around them. "What about men?" he asked quietly after a moment. "Have you – met anyone?"

"I've dated a bit," Kurt answered. "A month or two here and there. Never anything serious." Suddenly his voice sounded bitter. "Boys come to see my shows – 19, 20, 21 year olds – kids who just moved to New York and live in shitty apartments about the size of a closet. They stagedoor, like we did. They throw themselves at me like I'm some kind of celebrity, and I find the cutest of them to go home with." He never would have confessed this to anyone – he barely confessed to himself how much of a pattern it had become – but suddenly he felt the need to let Blaine see him, see the kind of person he'd become. If Blaine saw it, maybe he would understand that it _wasn't _Blaine, that this was just the way he operated now.

Blaine just nodded thoughtfully. "Why?" he asked after a moment.

Kurt was thrown by the question. "Fun. Sex. Why does anyone –?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. It's just – you don't seem too happy about it. Isn't that kind of the point of hooking up?"

"It's not always just _hooking up_," he said quickly. "I've had boyfriends. I've moved in with a few of them. I'm not resisting a relationship; it's just never worked out."

"I'm not judging you." Blaine was looking earnestly at him. "Please don't think I am. I have no room to – I told you I haven't been in a relationship since, you know – I'm just trying to understand. You're an attractive, talented, successful young man in New York City. It's just hard to believe that you're still single." He looked away, mindlessly thumbing the door's lock button. "You deserve to be happy, Kurt. You know that, right?"

Kurt felt as though someone had knocked the air from him. He remembered this, Blaine the martyr, Blaine the saint who selflessly sacrificed everything for Kurt's happiness. This was why he left. This was what drove him away in the first place, this unending kindness, and here it was, eight years later, still trailing him. "You deserve to get over me." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Blaine stared at him for a second, his expression unreadable. "I have to go," he said quietly, pushing the car door open and climbing out, striding toward him car.

_Shit. _Kurt jumped out, following him into the cold of the night. "Please, don't go. Listen, I shouldn't have…"

"Not everything is about you, Kurt." The way Blaine spat his name took him aback. "I have a daughter to get back to. I have commitments. Not that you would know anything about _that._"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Blaine turned to look at him levelly. "You know what it means," he said, almost a whisper. "Fuck, Kurt, you don't even have a dog or a cat or a damn fish! You have no ties."

"Oh, that's lovely," he snorted. "Aren't you the one who said the longest relationship you've had since us was about four hours long?"

Anger was a look Kurt had only seen on Blaine once or twice before and never directed at him, but it was streaming from Blaine now. His skin was flushed, the blood gathering in the tips of his ears. "Sex isn't everything, Kurt, being in a relationship isn't everything. I have all sorts of commitment in my life. Have you ever raised a child? It's no picnic! I have Lizzie, I have a regular job with classes and office hours, I have car payments and a lease. You don't! You have a job that lets you be alone all day and perform at night, a job that changes as often as you could possibly want lest you get bored. Your idea of dating is going home with your fanboys to _their _apartments, moving in with _them,_ doing everything on your terms and making sure that you don't let anyone get too close to you. And do you know why? Because you're too fucking _selfish_ to live any other way!"

Streams of light from the road illuminated their faces as a car zoomed by on the highway only feet away. There were desperate, frustrated tears racing down Blaine's face as he stood, panting and breathless and shivering in the cold.

Kurt stood, mute. His heart was racing wildly, and he didn't know if he wanted to tell Blaine to fuck off, to take Blaine in his arms and hold him until he stopped crying, or to shove him against the hood of the car and relieve their tension through sex, the only way they seemed to know. So he just stood still, his arms wrapped around himself protectively.

Blaine looked at him pleadingly, then turned and jumped in his car, speeding away without a backwards glance. Kurt stood in the clearing for a moment staring at the road before he crumpled, sitting in the snow and letting his head fall into his hands, the tears nearly freezing on his face in the winter wind.


	9. Chapter 9

Kurt walked down the hallway in awe. It was nothing short of breathtaking – in the twelve years since he graduated from McKinley, nothing had changed. It felt surreal, and Kurt had the immediate sensation of leftover fear, as though he may be slushied or thrown against a locker or tossed in a dumpster at any moment.

There were no students – they had a few days of vacation left. But he didn't care about seeing them, anyway. He heard the piano from the hallway, plucking out a melody restlessly. The choir room door was open.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, just observing. Will Schuester hadn't been much older than Kurt was now when he took over the glee club, so seeing him with the beginnings of gray hair and slumped shoulders was an unexpected sight. Middle age was catching up with him.

"Mr. Schue?" Kurt said softly, feeling his voice rise to its high school range out of sheer habit.

His old teacher spun around, instantly recognizing the voice. "Kurt!" He jumped off the piano stool to hug him tightly. "God, how have you been? Sit down, sit down."

Kurt followed him to the chairs he'd sat in a thousand times. "I'm doing well – just in town for the holidays, and I thought I'd come by for a visit."

"I'm so glad you did! How is New York? And _Company _– it's closed now, of course, but how was it?"

Kurt's eyes widened. "How do you know about…"

Mr. Schue's laugh cut him off. "Kurt, your father has emailed me every press release, every article written about you since you moved to New York."

"_What_?"

"No, don't be mad – he's just so proud of you, Kurt." Will was smiling fondly. "And I love keeping up with what you're doing. I can't take any credit, of course, but you're the first of my glee kids to become a professional performer, and that's – affirming for a teacher in the arts, I guess."

"You should take credit," Kurt said softly. "It doesn't matter how much I loved performing – I never would have dreamed about pursuing it as a career if it hadn't been for glee."

Mr. Schuester gave him an appreciative clap on the back. "It's easier here now, Kurt," he said after a moment. "I mean, the left tackle is dating the quarterback, and no one seems to think anything of it. It's not as hard for the kids now as it was for you." He hesitated. "I'm sorry I didn't do more. To help you while you were here."

Kurt just shrugged. "You did what you were prepared to do," he said shortly. "I was the first out kid you ever taught, wasn't I? You had no way of knowing how it'd be." He took a breath. "Besides, by the time senior year hit, I was past caring about bullies."

"I know." Mr. Schue was looking at him with an expression that was a bit too perceptive for Kurt's liking. "Blaine's in town, too, you know."

Kurt looked pointedly at the piano. "I know." He knew how much of a mentor Mr. Schue had become to Blaine during their senior year, but he had no idea they ever still talked. "You stay in touch with Blaine?"

Will laughed. "You could say that, yeah. After Lizzie was born – " and then he cut off, his face paralyzed in horror.

"It's okay," Kurt said quickly, "I know."

Schuester's eyes fluttered shut in relief. "Oh thank _God,_" he muttered. "Well, after Lizzie was born, his parents didn't seem to want anything to do with him for a while, and he had to get out of New York – the two of them came to live with me and Emma for about a year while he saved up some money writing for the Lima News and helping me coach New Directions while he started grad classes online."

_He left that part out,_ Kurt noted.

Will checked his watch. "Crap, I didn't realize it was so late," he said, getting up. "I hate to cut our visit short, but I appreciate you coming by, Kurt. It's good to see you again."

"You too," he said, shaking his former teacher's hand.

"Hey, listen – when do you go back to New York?"

Kurt shrugged noncommittally. "Probably not for another week. Why?"

"Would you be interested in coming and talking to the glee club? It's not too often they get to meet a real Broadway actor. If you just came and talked to them a little bit about performing professionally, maybe sang a song or two…"

Kurt smiled. "I'd love to."

_A/N: As always, I thank you for reading and ask for reviews. :)_


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt stood outside the door, staring at it as he tried to will himself to go inside. He'd avoided the Lima Bean like the plague since the breakup – hard to do as it was one of the only coffee shops in the area – but he was going to the school in a few hours and he just felt that he needed to do it.

He opened the door and was immediately inundated with the smell of coffee and fresh-baked pastries. It was calmer than it had been most mornings in high school when he'd stopped by to get his before-school mocha with Blaine, since it was later – most people were at work or in school by 11:00 a.m. He stepped up to the counter, feeling the familiar, comforting sensation of a long-abandoned routine.

"What can I get for you?" The barista was young, probably only eighteen or nineteen, with a blonde ponytail and bright green eyes. Kurt couldn't help thinking that the last time he was in this coffee shop, she was probably in elementary school. Of course people didn't stay at a café job for ten years, but part of him had expected to see Vicki or Sarah or Emily. They would have known the order without asking.

"I'd like a grande nonfat mocha and a medium drip." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to stop them, and he looked away, cursing himself internally. He knew he should tell the girl to void the second half of the order, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

The door jingled open and Kurt turned around quickly, half-expecting to see Blaine standing there, ready for his coffee. Finn was in the doorway, giving him an inquisitive expression. "Didn't expect to see you here," he said, striding over to his stepbrother. "I thought you stopped coming here."

"I did." Kurt blushed, mortified, when the barista chose that particular moment to hand him the two coffees, looking at Finn with an apologetic face. "Want a free coffee?"

"Sure," Finn replied, taking the drink from him as Kurt led them to a table – _his _table, his table with Blaine.

"How are you, Kurt?

"Fine." He hadn't spoken much with Finn since their last encounter in the bedroom a few days ago.

Finn hesitated. "I know I – I snapped a little about the thing with Blaine," he said, stirring his coffee restlessly. "You're right, I've missed him. We were friends. But you're my brother, Kurt. I should have your back no matter what. And I do." He looked at Kurt levelly. "But it's getting to you, Kurt. You're acting like a completely different person – you've been weird since I picked you up at the airport. I know what you're thinking, Kurt, that you're doing just fine on your own, that having Blaine in your life will just complicate things. But Kurt – you ordered a coffee for him."

"I know."

Finn reached across the table and took Kurt's hand, an oddly affectionate gesture. "You're scared," he said softly. "I totally get that. But dude, leaving Blaine was the dumbest thing you've ever done."

Kurt felt stinging tears starting to build and willed them away angrily. "Even if I wanted to, Finn, even if I wanted him back, it's too late now. If I didn't fuck it up eight years ago, then I definitely have in the past week."

Finn just smiled that crooked smile that only ever seemed to reach half his face. "I wouldn't be sure of it," he replied. "That boy doesn't give up easily."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Hey guys. First off, I want to thank everyone for their support – I've gotten so many flattering reviews and messages for the last few chapters. I will be updating more regularly from now on, just so you know. Secondly, this chapter is very heavily dependent on the song "Being Alive" from __Company_, _so if you've never heard it, you should go listen to it. Third, using lyrics in fiction is always awkward, and this site fucked up my formatting, so I apologize. Anyway, thanks for everything, and I hope you enjoy!_

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><p>"Okay guys, let's get started." The students started finding their seats as Schuester spoke, slowly quieting down. They were so <em>young –<em> had Kurt ever really been that young?

"Today I'm happy to announce that we have a very special guest, Mr. Kurt Hummel. Kurt is a graduate of McKinley, class of 2012, and of New York University, class of 2016. He's performed in two Broadway shows, three national tours, and five off-Broadway productions, and he was one of the original six members of New Directions when I first took over the club. Please give him your full attention."

Kurt stepped forward, giving a grin and a facetious curtsy when the class applauded for him. "Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel." It felt so absolutely natural, standing in front of these kids, trying to identify them with the New Directions he remembered. There was an obvious Rachel Berry, a little blonde sitting front and center who looked as though it was physically painful for her to keep her hand down; there was a Puck, a boy with badass written all over his face who had a guitar case by his chair, which was surrounded by three girls.

He spoke to them about the business of theatre, about the importance of getting your Equity card as quickly as possible and how to find a decent agent. He told them a little bit about each of the shows he'd been in, about doing summer stock while he was in college and how much you should avoid doing outdoor shows if at all possible. He told them about living in New York and being prepared to pay a ridiculous amount for rent.

When he said he'd like to sing a few songs for them, the blonde Rachel in the front row had her hand in the air before the words were all the way out of his mouth. "Mr. Kurt?" she asked.

"Yeah, uh – "

"Taylor." She smiled radiantly at him. "Mr. Schuester told us about you being in _Company, _and we wondered if you'd sing 'Being Alive' for us. We learned the chorus part at the beginning and we'll say the lines during the first verse…"

Kurt glanced over at Schuester, who nodded with a guilty grin – clearly he'd been in on this plan. "Being Alive," the closing number of _Company _and Kurt's character's moment of epiphany, was easily one of the most remarkable songs he'd ever had the privilege of performing onstage, and being asked to sing it was thrilling. He turned back to the class with a smile.

"I'd love to," he said sincerely. "Are you guys ready?" A few of them reached into their backpacks for sheet music while their classmates nodded. He looked at Brad, sitting patiently at the piano, and smiled. The man looked just the same. Brad struck a starting pitch for them – an A-flat, if Kurt remembered correctly – and the kids started.

The first section of the song consisted of Bobby's friends singing variations of the character's name in with obnoxious persistence. "_Bobby, Bobby, Bobby Baby Bobby Bubi," _they chanted quickly. They sounded surprisingly good – it was obvious that Will Schuester had improved as a choir director since Kurt's days in New Directions.

Kurt took a breath, feeling himself fall into the familiar role. "Stop! What do you get?" The piano picked up a plaintive melody, playing a two-bar vamp before he started singing.

"_Someone to hold you too close_

_Someone to hurt you too deep_

_Someone to sit in your chair_

_To ruin your sleep – "_

"That's true, but there's more than that," murmured a tall boy with dyed black hair.

The little blonde up front spoke next. "Is that all you think there is to it?"

"You've got so many reasons for not being with someone, but Robert, you haven't got one good reason for being alone." The young Puck, as Kurt christened him, was staring at him intently.

"You're onto something, Bobby, you're onto something," a boy in a letterman jacket said.

"_Someone to need you too much_

_Someone to know you too well_

_Someone to pull you up short_

_To put you through hell – "_

He couldn't keep up with the voices anymore, settling just to hear the lines surrounding him, enveloping him.

"You see what you look for, you know?"

"You're not a kid anymore, Robert. I don't think you'll ever be a kid anymore, kiddo."

"Hey, buddy, don't be afraid that it won't be perfect. The only thing to be afraid of, really, is that it won't _be._"

"Don't stop now – keep going!"

As he sang, Kurt found his mind wandering. He's always scorned the actors that compulsively used their own experiences while they acted – acting was _not _therapy, and using unresolved issues as an emotional stimulus often led to breakdown. They'd talked about that in class. But it didn't mean he could keep Blaine's face out of his mind – Blaine's eyes as they rammed into him, hurt and tired and hungry and angry and loving.

"_Someone you have to let in_

_Someone whose feelings you spare_

_Someone who like it or not_

_Will want you to share_

_A little – a lot."_

Blaine wanted him to share a lot, he knew. Too much. More than he could.

"And what does all that mean?"

"Robert, how do you know so much about it when you've never been there?"

A hand found its way onto Kurt's shoulder, and he spun around, not caring about breaking character. Finn was standing there, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "It's much better _living_ it than looking at it, Robert," he said gently.

And suddenly Will Schuester was at his side, too. "Add 'em up, Bobby, add 'em up."

It took all Kurt's energy to force himself to concentrate enough to make the next entrance on time.

"_Someone to crowd you with love_

_Someone to force you to care_

_Someone to make you come through,_

_Who'll always be there_

_As frightened as you_

_To help us survive being alive."_

"Blow out the candles, Robert, and make a wish," said Rachel – when had _she _gotten there? – as she slipped her hand in his and stared at him with her dark, wide eyes. "Want something. Want _something._" She stepped away from him, pulling him to turn and look at the door.

Blaine was standing there, looking surprised and vulnerable. Kurt just stared back at him, their eyes locked in a silent struggle. He had missed his entrance a long time ago, he knew, but Brad was vamping the measure patiently. Finally he forced himself to look away, his voice coming in tentatively as he stared at the floor.

"_Somebody hold me too close_

_Somebody hurt me too deep_

_Somebody sit in my chair_

_And ruin my sleep_

_And make me aware of being alive."_

Blaine was moving slowly as Kurt sang, standing closer to the students so he had a better view of the performance. Kurt sang the next verse, not daring to look at Blaine. Blaine was there, listening to him sing.

Blaine was there. Blaine had _always _been there, since the day they met. It was always Blaine who made the first step, Blaine who had helped through his struggles, Blaine who transferred to McKinley to be with him, Blaine who had given him the courage to pursue his dream and move to New York, Blaine who had moved with him. It was Blaine all along.

"_Make me confused_

_Mock me with praise_

_Let me be used_

_Vary my days – _

_But alone is alone, not alive."_

Then they were looking at each other and there were tears in Blaine's eyes and there were tears in Kurt's and he could barely sing and he could barely _breathe_ because everything was Blaine, closing in around him in such absolute perfection that Kurt couldn't help it, he wanted to drown in Blaine and stay in that glorious, intoxicating presence forever. As the piano crescendoed, he took a breath, the words tripping from his tongue effortlessly, words straight to Blaine, only to him.

"_Somebody crowd me with love_

_Somebody force me to care_

_Somebody let me come through_

_I'll always be there as frightened as you_

_To help us survive being alive_

_Being alive…"_

Blaine was biting his lip so hard that Kurt was worried it would bleed at any second and he wanted to run to him, to replace those teeth with his lips so Blaine wouldn't hurt himself, so they could be together as they always should have been. But he stayed instead, his voice soaring through the last held high note until Kurt and the piano stopped and the world was silent. It was the two of them, together, and Kurt prayed that the little tearful smile that had appeared on Blaine's lips was an indication that he understood.

Then there was applause, and Kurt remembered that there were other people in the room, other people in the _universe _besides him and Blaine. He took a quick bow as Will told the kids that they were dismissed and that he would see them tomorrow.

Then they were alone.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/n: All right, faithful readers, I really do owe you an apology. I was really hoping to finish this story before the summer break ended, but that just didn't happen. Between the last time I updated this story and now, I've gone from the lovely summer schedule of working a maximum of 20 hours a week and doing nothing else to my INSANE semester of taking 16 credit hours and working between 30-40 hours a week, so life is hectic, to say the least. College takes its toll. So I apologize from the bottom of my heart that it took so long, and I promise that I will try my damnedest to keep posting on this story in a semi-regular fashion – I promise I'm not jumping ship! Thank you for your patience, and as ever, I would love feedback! Thanks._

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><p>"I can't believe it," Blaine muttered.<p>

"I know." Kurt was pacing around the choir room, not looking at the other man. "They set up some sort of – what, intervention? – then ran out before we could yell at them for it."

Blaine just nodded. He slid his fingers along the smooth black wood of the piano. "You sang it well," he said softly. "'Being Alive.' I knew you'd make a great Bobby."

Kurt laughed, rubbing his temples woefully. "What are you even talking about?" he moaned. "That, sir, is what you call a hot mess. I can't believe Schuester brought me here to perform as a professional then _blind sighted_ me like that."

"So, what exactly did he tell you?"

Kurt sat awkwardly next to him. "Just that the kids would benefit from it if I gave them some insight on showbiz. He asked me to talk and sing a little. God, Blaine, I had no idea…"

"I know you didn't." Blaine looked tired, running his fingers restlessly through the curly hair. "I try to come by every year and see the kids. It started when I – well, I helped out with the club for a while, so I wanted to see them, and I just kept coming back. We usually do a few master classes, I coach them a bit, that sort of thing. That's what we were supposed to do today."

"You coached New Directions for a while? Was that when you lived with Schuester?" Kurt couldn't help it.

Blaine sighed. "So he told you." He hesitated for a moment. "When Sydney told me she was pregnant, I called Will. I didn't know where else to go, really. Eventually I told my parents; they were thrilled to have a grandchild, but not thrilled that it didn't mean I was magically straight. Once Lizzie was born, I couldn't afford to live in New York on a Starbucks paycheck, so I moved back to Ohio. Will and Emma are Lizzie's godparents, and they took us in until I got on my feet."

They sat in silence, tension holding the room. The light above them flickered slightly as uncomfortable ambience settled between them.

"I saw your look," Blaine said quietly. "I know you. Now we're here, together, and you sang a song and you think you understand it all now because it feels good for _right now_ and you want it back." He looked up at Kurt, and there was a surprising amount of resolve in his eyes. "We're not doing this. I won't. I've been throwing myself at you like a dewy-eyed schoolgirl since we left New York, and I apologize for that. But I'm through. I'm going to pick up what's left of my dignity and stop this – this thing, whatever the hell it is we're doing." He stood up, letting a hesitant hand rest on Kurt's shoulder. "Goodbye, Kurt."

Blaine was almost to the door when Kurt found his voice. "Blaine, don't."

He stopped, not letting himself turn around. "Why not?"

"Because I love you." The words amazed even him, but even as they fell from his lips he knew it was the truth. He loved Blaine. He probably always had.

Blaine's hand lingered on the door for a few brief seconds before he pulled it open.

Kurt jumped to his feet, running to him. "You can't leave." The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and all he knew was that he need Blaine, desperately, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. Suddenly nothing was more important, not his career or his freedom or his unstructured lifestyle – all he could see was Blaine. "I want to be with you."

Blaine's forehead was wrinkled, his whole face nearly contorted with painful determination that broke into the smallest of smiles when he met Kurt's eyes, taking the soft hand lovingly. "No, sweetheart, you don't," he whispered. "It's just too late."


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N:**__ Hey guys! Again, I know it's been ages since an update and I apologize profusely, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for your loyal reading – it really means so much to me that you're all sticking with me while I muddle my way through this!_

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><p>Kurt let his hand linger on the doorknob a few hours later, leaning forward until his head was resting on the front door. He wasn't sure how he could face them - his dad and Carole, Finn and Rachel, the twins. How much had Finn told Burt? Burt loved Blaine, too, as everyone loved Blaine, but he'd stood unflinchingly at his son's side after the breakup while everyone else looked like they might cry over the loss of Blaine at any moment. "Kurt's a smart kid," he'd overheard Burt telling Finn and Carole one night, that first Christmas after the split. "If Kurt thinks they're better off apart, we have to trust his judgment."<p>

At least someone could trust his judgment. Kurt sure as hell couldn't.

He took a breath, turning his key and entering the house, which was surprisingly quiet. He walked to the stairs, about to climb them when a voice stopped him.

"Kurt?" Rachel was standing at the living room doorway, a sad, nervous expression on her face. "Are - are you okay?"

He nodded stiffly. "Where are the others?"

"Burt and Carole took the boys to the zoo, and Finn ran to pick up some groceries for his mom." She approached him slowly. "How did it go?"

"He doesn't want to see me again, Rachel." In the choir room, he'd been furious at them for their little stunt, but now he couldn't find it in himself to care that much.

She nodded slowly. "Did we make things worse?" she asked, her voice smaller than Kurt had heard it before.

"Yes." It was a statement of fact rather than a condemnation. "But it would have happened anyway. Some people just aren't meant to be."

"Some people," she repeated. "You and Blaine aren't just some people, though. You're perfect together."

"Don't, Rachel."

"I will!" Her voice had risen to a pale shriek. "Someone has to! Kurt, you have to go after him. You realize that, don't you? You're never going to love anyone the way you love him. You've thrown away every other relationship you've attempted since him. It's because you need him."

_Go after him._

"I can't push myself on him," he said softly. "Rachel, he told me he doesn't want to be with me."

She snorted. "He said those exact words?"

"Maybe not verbatim, but..."

"He loves you, Kurt." They were holding hands now. He wasn't sure when that happened, but it was comforting. "Go to him. You don't look at people you don't want to see again the way he looked at you in the choir room."

Their eyes locked as he pleaded silently, perhaps for courage. Then he released her hand, kissed her on the cheek, and ran out the door.

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><p>He ripped the car door open and ran toward the pool house, knocking frantically. He hadn't breathed since he got in the car, and it was catching up to him now. He panted, his breath visible in the January air. He peered in the window, hoping to see Blaine standing there, waiting for him.<p>

But Blaine wasn't there – that much was apparent. The pool house was empty, the lights off. He slammed his fists against the siding, taking a breath as he turned around.

He looked at the mansion, its looming façade as terrifying as ever. There were some things time couldn't change. Throwing caution to the stinging wind, he approached it, knocking on the front door hesitantly.

Mr. Anderson answered within a few seconds, looking at Kurt as though he was seeing a ghost. "Kurt Hummel," he acknowledged shakily, looking the boy up and down slowly. "I didn't think we'd be seeing you again."

"Please," he said, deciding that skipping pleasantries with the man that had hated him since the first moment he laid eyes on him was the best course of action. "I need to see Blaine."

The man shook his head, running his hand through his salt-and-pepper curls in a very familiar motion. "He's gone. Came home all flustered a few hours ago, said he'd booked a flight last minute, and took Elizabeth with him to the airport." The man's expression had shifted from discomfort to a more blatant dislike. "I had no idea it was you he was so worked up about. Still? After all these years, you're still around, breaking everything in your path."

"Please – what's his address in New York?" Kurt's head was reeling from the news and from its bearer.

Mr. Anderson snorted. "You really think I'm giving that to you?" he asked, incredulous. "You came into our lives with your bedazzled outfits and your glee club and your NYU dreams, you ruined any chances that boy ever had of getting over this stupid phase, then you ran off with the first cute boy you meet in the city. You've been finding a way to fuck up my son, our whole _family_ for the past twelve years, and you think I'm just going to help you keep it up?"

He bit his lip. "I know you don't like me, and I understand, but it's…"

"Get the hell off my property, Hummel," the man said levelly. "Don't come back."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Oh my god, it's been exactly a month since I updated, and I am so sorry about that. Lots of stuff got in the way – including breaking my laptop, which has all of my writing on it, so now I'm working off an old computer until mine is fixed and rewriting what I can so I don't keep anyone waiting any longer. So here is Chapter 14 (and I promise, Chapter 15 is about halfway done right now, so it should definitely not be another month before I update again). Also, coming up in the near future: on my currently broken laptop, there is a long-ass (like 10-15 pages – I never write one-shots that long) finished one-shot companion story to this, set in the college years during the semester before Kurt and Blaine break up, centered loosely around Dolly Parton's "Jolene." So keep an eye out – that will get published as soon as I have my laptop back. Until then, enjoy!

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><p>The ride home was a blur. Leaving the choir room and telling him it was too late was one thing, and maybe Rachel could have been right about him wanting to be pursued – but flying off to New York? He wanted to be as far away from Kurt as possible, because it really was over.<p>

Kurt rushed past his family in the living room when he got home, hoping that his brother and sister-in-law would take the hint that they'd done enough damage for one day and leave him the hell alone. He sprinted upstairs, about to reach his room when he stopped. Heavy footsteps were following him, and Kurt sighed before whipping around, ready to berate Finn with a stinging retort. "Dad," he breathed, a little relieved and a little terrified. "What's up?"

"Can we talk, Kurt?" Burt asked, nodding toward his son's door.

"Sure." He ushered them into the pristine room, sitting on his bed while his father grabbed the chair from the vanity and pulled it closer.

Burt took his hat off, playing with it for a moment before he spoke. "I've tried to stay out of your business. It's not because I don't care – but you're a man now, Kurt, and I didn't want to overstep. You needed your space. I get that. I didn't stop loving you."

"I know, Dad."

Burt just nodded, but he looked relieved. He paused, looking down at his hands before bringing his gaze back to his son with a sad little grin. "Remember that week – when was it, your sophomore year? You were sixteen, I know – when I came downstairs to find you messing around with that cheerleader? Brittany, right?"

Kurt winced. He definitely remembered that week – the Mellencamp, the making out, the flannel. "Yeah. It was a dark day for fashion."

Burt laughed, running his hand across his forehead as his expression changed. "You tried so damn hard, poor kid. You wanted me to see you trying, see your macho side. But it was hard for me to notice. All I saw was how miserable you were." Burt had dropped the hat and was now looking straight into his son's eyes. "You were so busy trying to cover up who you were that you couldn't even pretend to be happy. And you know what, Kurt? You've been that way for eight years now."

"I know who I am, Dad," Kurt said, immediately defensive.

"Yeah. You do. But Kurt, you're still hiding so much. You're trying so hard to be independent, to prove that you don't need a man that it's obvious you're denying yourself happiness, just like when you were sixteen. Blaine is a part of you, Kurt. You've spent all these years trying not to need him – but you do."

He was fighting hard against the tears that were trying to escape. "He doesn't want me anymore, Dad." He cursed himself for the crack in his voice. "He went to New York to get away from me."

Burt chuckled. "For such a smart kid, you can be pretty dense, Kurt. You know Blaine better than that – that's how he deals with this stuff, by _not_ dealing. Doesn't mean he doesn't want you to go after him. He's scared. He doesn't know if he can trust you. Show him he can." Burt shook his head, smiling. "You've always known what you wanted, Kurt, since you were a kid. Why are you pretending you don't know now? You've wanted to go after him since that Christmas you left him, and now that you've finally figured it out you can't back out because of your pride." He took his son's hand between his, squeezing it gently. "Love like that doesn't come around too often. I got lucky. After your mom, I didn't think I'd ever be able to love again, until you introduced me to Carole in some misguided plot to hook up with your brother."

Kurt cracked a smile, letting himself laugh for what seemed like the first time in ages. "You're making it sound worse than it was. He wasn't my brother _then_."

"Whatever." Burt smiled. "Point is, Kurt, you're in love with Blaine, and he's in love with you. You're better together. Why not go for it?" He stood up, rubbing his son's shoulder bracingly, and headed towards the door.

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt said, the smile lingering. "Love you."

Burt turned around, his hand on the door. "Love you too." He paused, giving his son that same sad smile. "It's okay to want to be happy, Kurt."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Okay, guys, cherish this, because the likelihood of this happening again is less likely than lightning striking twice. Two chapters in two days! I'll try to have 16 up by the end of the week (theoretically my real laptop should be fixed by tomorrow – yay!), but I make no guarantees on that. I also want to thank you all for your kind reviews and your emotional investment in the story. Hearing your reactions really is so, so encouraging. You guys really are amazing.

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><p>Kurt stood in La Guardia, stretching his legs gingerly from the plane ride. It was here, only a few weeks ago, that a little dark-haired girl had run into her father's arms, bringing Blaine back into his life so recklessly, so inconveniently.<p>

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, taking a deep breath before finding Blaine in his contacts and dialing the number. His mind spun while he listened to ringing sound, waiting breathlessly for the lovely voice on the other end.

It went through four rings before it went through. "Hello?" Blaine asked, his voice tired.

"Hi," he breathed. "I – I'm in New York." Suddenly this was harder than it was supposed to be, suddenly the talk from his father seemed to have major gaps. How did this work, this winning back trust? What did that even mean?

"I – okay. What…what can I do for you?"

"I want to see you."

The silence on Blaine's end was a black hole; Kurt felt it sucking him in, threatening to destroy him. "Kurt, no," came the gentle voice, though it wavered. "I can't, okay? We can't do this, baby –" Kurt's eyes fluttered shut at the term of endearment, even as he heard Blaine cursing himself for it. "I have Lizzie to think about. I have _myself _to think about, Kurt. Just – no more."

"Please," and suddenly he was begging and he hated himself for it, "please, Blaine. One more shot, okay?"

He heard Blaine breathe, slowly, deliberately. "I've gotta go, Kurt."

The call was ended.

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><p>Kurt stepped into Joe's Pub, sliding onto a barstool and ordering a martini quickly. He scanned the crowd casually for familiar faces. The performer of the evening was a cast-mate from <em>Company<em>, Laura who wasn't quite a Broadway veteran but was definitely well known, and she took the stage to loud applause. Blaine would have liked to meet her. They'd talked about her when they were in college, saw her in shows together.

But Blaine wasn't there, and Kurt was going to have fun.

He hadn't meant to get drunk, because that wasn't something Kurt Hummel did. He wasn't one of those guys who went out alone and got drunk. Yet there he was, and there was the boy with curly blonde hair that recognized him from the show ("I saw it five times. You were the most brilliant Bobby I've ever seen") buying him drink after drink, and there was Kurt whispering that they should go somewhere else, somewhere fun, because Joe's Pub was too classy for the kind of things they should be doing. And then they're in some little club two blocks away that Kurt didn't even realize existed though he's lived next door for five years, a club where they dance and drink and grind up on each other, clinging to each other with sweating palms and spinning heads, until finally the blonde whispered, "Can we go somewhere? My place?"

So they did.

It was a ten minute ride with disapproving looks from their cab driver as they felt each other up, the blonde's lips all over Kurt's neck, and he couldn't stop giggling because they were so drunk, they were drunk and it was fun, and Kurt could still have fun even though Blaine was gone and he wasn't coming back.

The blonde was fumbling with his keys and Kurt was trying his best to distract him, his long fingers slipping beneath the waistband of the tight dark jeans. "Fuck," the boy moaned, shoving Kurt against the door and kissing him, hard, violently before shoving him away for a moment, long enough to open the door and push him inside, in the tiny apartment and the messy bedroom.

They were on the bed, the smooth beige sheets with their obviously high thread-count dragging along his skin as his shirt was pulled off. The weight of the other man on him was heavier than Kurt would have expected, and Kurt had a brief fear of suffocating.

"God, Kurt," and he can feel the hot breath against his ear, too close, too warm, "you're so fucking gorgeous."

"I –" He tried to come up with a response, because he seemed like a sweet enough kid and he was doing some lovely things with the sensitive patch of skin behind Kurt's ear, but a sudden thought hit Kurt that made him stop his moving, his responsorial moaning. "What's – what's your name?"

"What?" The boy's mouth barely stopped moving on Kurt's neck to breathe out the word.

"I – I don't know your name." Kurt felt himself spinning down from the high they'd created in their heat. He could feel the cold, impersonal nature of it creeping in – a random fuck in a random room with some random boy whose name Kurt never even bothered to ask. And in a moment, everything was different – then the weight Kurt wanted to feel pressing down on him was Blaine's, the hands he wanted tracing his sides were Blaine's, the lips he wanted on his forever were Blaine's. He knew Blaine's name. He knew everything about him, wanted everything about him, and he knew in a flash that no one else could ever suffice again.

Kurt sat up quickly, more quickly than the alcohol in his bloodstream seemed to appreciate. "I've…I've gotta go."

"Listen," the boy murmured, running his fingers through Kurt's hair soothingly, "my name's Andrew. Relax, baby."

_Baby._ Blaine had called him that on the phone. Blaine who didn't hook up with strangers in bars, Blaine who had a little girl and a home and a job, Blaine who was in his way so much happier than Kurt could even imagine. Blaine didn't have the freedom Kurt was clinging to, but he was still happy – maybe even happier because of it.

His head was spinning. "I'm going," he said softly, rubbing Andrew's hand apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"I – uh, yeah, okay." Andrew leaned back, sitting on his legs.

Kurt got up slowly, trying to keep his bearings, and pulled his sweater off the floor. It was all a blur – the awkward, drunken goodbye, the cab ride back across town, the struggle to remember exactly which apartment number was his since he spent so damn little time there.

He tossed his keys on the bar, rubbing his eyes as he wandered toward his bedroom, staring at the bed before him. It was a king-sized bed – why, he didn't know. He didn't share the bed with anyone. In the four years that he'd had the thing, he'd only slept in it a handful of times. He lived other places, with boys like Andrew, boys who were cute and infatuated, boys he could manipulate and tease and pretend to fall in love with, even sometimes convincing himself of it.

He curled into the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. Everything was different in Ohio. He could distract himself there, play with his nephews, shop with Rachel, organize his father's closet – such distractions didn't present themselves now that he was home, grounded in New York. Here, he was faced with the plain truth: he was thirty years old, madly in love with his high school sweetheart, and utterly alone.

He climbed out of the bed, the emptiness beside him seeming to mock him. He listlessly made his way to the living room, sliding onto the black leather couch and pulling the soft throw over him, snuggling it close. If he couldn't have Blaine, he could get used to sleeping alone.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/n: **Hi friends. I hope you don't hate me for the insanely sporadic nature of my updating, and I hope you enjoy! Also, I know this chapter is quite short, but the next chapter is finished and will be uploaded today or tomorrow, as soon as I can give it a final edit. Thanks for reading!

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><p>Kurt's hand was shaking slightly, the fountain pen seeming to mock him, as though to say, <em>Really? Who still uses a fountain pen?<em>

Blaine. If anyone still used a fountain pen, it would be Blaine, and it would be Blaine who appreciated it the most.

The cream-colored stationery was from a boxed set he bought the summer he spent in Italy, spending ridiculous amounts of money on postage when he could have just emailed Blaine, but they agreed on letters, so letters it was. There was a delicate romanticism in a handwritten letter that simply could not be replicated electronically. Blaine had always been in awe of Kurt's meticulously flawless penmanship, but even as Kurt made jokes about the illegibility of the other boy's sprawling, bubbly cursive, he loved it, loved the elegant lines that occasionally tried to neaten themselves out but never quite succeeded.

It had been almost a month since Kurt came home to New York. He'd been to auditions, done some masterclasses, updated his resume, and thought about Blaine. He knew he wanted him back - he hadn't been so sure of anything since he was eighteen years old and seemed to understand things more clearly than he did as he'd gotten older. He also knew that Blaine needed space, that Blaine's last words on the phone were set. Forcing himself on Blaine was the last thing he wanted. At the same time, though, he needed Blaine to know that he was serious, now. That he wanted to be near him again.

He took a breath. It couldn't really be this hard, could it? Writing to Blaine was something he'd done countless times, from flirty notes in pre-calc to five-page epistles while he was in Italy to the little Post-It notes they left all over the apartment in the good days.

The silky black ink glided across the creamy paper with ease as the words began to pour out.

_Blaine,_

_Don't freak out that I'm writing this, okay? I just want to apologize for everything, especially everything over the Christmas break. You were incredibly sweet and considerate, trying to build up a platonic relationship, and I'm sorry for all the stupid mistakes I made in preventing that._

_The truth is, I miss you in my life. I miss our camaraderie. To be honest, I don't have a lot of friends in New York– plenty of acquaintances, sure, but not a lot of people who I can really connect to, you know?_

_So this letter is my formal apology for everything – for acting like sex would fix things, for being a little bitch to you and acting like I didn't really care, for popping back into your life and giving you ultimatums. And if you don't want to forgive me, I'll understand, because I know how ridiculous I've been. But if you can forgive me – can we just be in each other's lives again? No pressure, no expectations – just friendship. If that's too much to ask, you can ignore this letter and I promise I'll leave you alone._

_-Kurt_

He didn't let himself reread it, knowing he would rewrite it a hundred times if he let himself. Instead, he folded it quickly, pushing it gently into its matching envelope, wrote the address of Blaine's office at the university on it, and pulled on a jacket, walking resolutely to the post office.

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><p>On Tuesday, the day after he sent the letter, he knew it would be ridiculous to expect a response. It would probably be delivered to Blaine that day, so even if Blaine wrote him back as soon as he opened it and put it straight in the mail, it would be at least Wednesday before the response would get back to him. It didn't stop him from casually stopping by the post office twice and checking his box.<p>

On Wednesday, there was no response. The mail could be running a little slow, he knew, or maybe Blaine got the reply in the mail after they'd already collected it for the day. These things took some time.

On Thursday, Kurt decided it got lost in the mail.

On Friday, Kurt decided Blaine just didn't want his friendship anymore.

On Saturday, Kurt almost decided against checking the little cubby in the post office at all. It was out of the way, and he knew that Blaine wasn't going to respond, so there wasn't a point in facing the disappointment again. But he did anyway.

A small white envelope sat, alone and beautiful, in the mailbox, and Kurt nearly cried from the relief of it. He opened it quickly, careful not to rip the envelope, and pulled out the letter, written on a sheet of yellow legal pad paper, the kind Blaine fell in love with using in college. There were only two lines used, with no header and no signature.

_It's not too much,_ the familiar scribble read. _Just friendship, though, okay? I can't do any more._

A wave of emotion, excitement and relief and terrified joy, rushed through him. He might not be exactly sure what he was doing, but he was sure of one thing - this would be his last chance with Blaine. He couldn't mess it up again.

He pulled out a sheet of stationery and slowly began crafting his response.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/n: **All right, guys, enjoy! I should have Chapter 18 up before the week is out. Please review! :)

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><p>It was three weeks and twenty letters later that Blaine asked him out to lunch. <em>Not like a date, <em>the letter clarified immediately, _just a chance to talk a bit. If this is too weird, forget I mentioned it. If not, there's a cute little cafe near the campus if you wanted to meet me - Tuesday at noon?  
><em>  
>Kurt couldn't stop smiling.<p>

When Tuesday arrived, he stared at his reflection in the mirror in discontentment. He'd changed outfits approximately thirteen times before he settled on gray skinny jeans, boots, and a pale blue sweater similar to one he'd owned in high school that Blaine had been fond of because it matched his eyes. He'd rolled his eyes at Blaine's sentimentality then, but it didn't mean he loved it any less. But maybe that was too much, recreating high school outfits. Maybe Blaine didn't want to be reminded of how Kurt was in high school, when he was sure and confident and didn't make the stupid mistakes that his adult self seemed so fond of.

He slipped onto the crowded subway car, his stomach in knots as his fingers whitened around the pole, hanging on tightly due more to his nerves than any sort of discomfort with the public transit system. He hadn't seen Blaine since the disastrous encounter at McKinley nearly two months ago, and while they'd corresponded several times a week for a while, it didn't really ease the nagging that was making its way to the forefront of his mind. Maybe Blaine wanted lunch to tell him nicely to leave him alone. Maybe they would realize they couldn't do this friendship thing anymore, not live, not in person. Maybe...

He sighed as the train jarred to a halt, gliding off quickly and skipping up the stairs into the cold air of early March. He pulled his pea coat closer, tightening the cashmere scarf as he took off down the block to the café.

He glanced around him, impressed at its chic décor. Blaine was right - it was a very charming place. He checked the slim silver watch on his wrist – he was nearly twenty minutes early, so he decided to go ahead and get a table where he could wait for Blaine until he caught a glimpse in the corner booth.

Blaine was sitting there, his fingers drumming nervously against the table as he checked his phone. He was lovely as ever, a crimson bowtie reminiscent of his adorably misguided high school fashion sense cocked a little to the right beneath his collar. Kurt nearly strode over to straighten it before he reminded himself that such a scene of domesticity was inappropriate. _As friends_, he reminded himself.

Their eyes met and Blaine stood up quickly, though why neither of them seemed to know. How exactly did one greet an ex-boyfriend that one was still in love with and had slept with a month ago but was now just a friend?

With a quick, awkward hug, Blaine seemed to have decided, letting go of Kurt with a slightly strained smile. "Thanks for meeting me," Blaine said softly.

"No, thank you." Kurt slid into the booth opposite the other man. "For all of this."

"It's been nice writing to you these past few weeks. Brings back memories, doesn't it?" He paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip in a painfully familiar way. "I want to try something," he said, and the nervous flicker of his eye did not go unnoticed. He held out his hand, which Kurt took with a quizzical glance. "Blaine Anderson." His eyes met Kurt's, and there was a burning hope in his shy smile.

"Kurt Hummel," he breathed.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt." They looked at each other, slow smiles blooming between them. Blaine picked up his Diet Coke and nodded to the drink already in front of Kurt, a glass of water complete with an extra slice of lemon, because Blaine _always_ remembered. "To fresh starts," he said, clinking the glasses together in a perfect toast.

And suddenly they were there, sixteen again, making small talk and blushing, Kurt noticing just how beautiful the golden glimmer in Blaine's eyes was. They sat at the table for hours, giggling like schoolboys and catching up, talking about favorite colors and movies they'd seen lately and books they'd read and the upcoming Tony Awards.

It started off very casually. They didn't talk about their relationship when they were young. They didn't talk about their reunion in Lima and all the drama it entailed. They treated it like a first date, not taking any information obtained in the past for granted. And it was lovely.

As time passed, Blaine became more and more comfortable. "Lizzie's having trouble in school," he confided, a frown wrinkling his forehead. "She's – _old _for her age, you know? She has trouble connecting with other third graders, and she's already one of the youngest in her class. She'd rather talk to the teacher about her independent reading than the other kids about – you know, whatever normal eight-year-olds are supposed to talk about." The worried expression grew more pronounced. "She's well-behaved, but the teachers seem concerned. They think she's not getting the proper social experience."

Kurt listened, nodding occasionally. "I don't think you need to worry," he said when Blaine paused. "She sounds like someone else I know."

Blaine tilted his head in confusion, and Kurt laughed aloud. "Seriously? Little mister too perfect and well-behaved and courteous for his own good? Obviously I didn't know you when you were her age, but God, Blaine, you were the biggest goody-two-shoes I've ever met. You strove to be the epitome of maturity around adults, remember? You always loved getting the teacher's approval more than anyone else, too." He smiled softly across the table. "You turned out okay. There's nothing wrong with being a smart kid."

He looked a little relieved. "Maybe not," he said. "I'm probably just overthinking it all."

"Probably." Kurt took a sip of his water. "At least that's one problem the twins don't seem to have. No one would accuse the poor suckers of being too smart."

"Wait, who? Twins?"

"Sean and Benny, Finn and Rach's kids. They're four now and their preschool experience thus far leads up to believe that they inherited their father's intelligence."

"God, I had no idea they had kids now. It makes sense, though. Do you have a picture?"

Kurt pulled out his cellphone, opening the picture and handing it across the table. It was a good one – Rachel had texted him the shot, a cute candid picture of Kurt with his two nephews opening presents.

"They look like Rachel, don't they?" Blaine said, smiling at the picture. "They're adorable." He handed the phone back, taking a last glance at Kurt's easy, loving face in the picture. "You look like quite the family man there."

Kurt shrugged noncommittally. "I love them, the brats."

Blaine cocked his head, looking as though he was about to speak again before he glanced down at his cellphone, cursing under his breath. "Shit, it's almost 3 - I've got a freshman comp class to teach in half an hour."

"Wow, sorry, I didn't realize it was so late." Blaine was reaching for his coat and taking a last sip of his soda when Kurt blurted out, "Can we do this again? Lunch?"

Blaine didn't quite meet his eye, but Kurt could see the smile as he bit down on his lip. "I'd like that," he murmured, his dark eyelashes fluttering in a way that was unintentionally beautiful.

"Tomorrow, then?"

Blaine laughed aloud, and any remaining tension was banished instantly. "Seriously?"

"What, too soon?" Kurt grinned, brushing through his hair lightly with his fingers.

Their eyes locked, and it was enough to leave Kurt breathless. "Tomorrow sounds perfect," Blaine replied, his dark eyes bright with something Kurt couldn't quite identify. With a quick pat on the shoulder, Blaine got up, blushing when he glanced back to see the other man's eyes following him. He nearly collided with a woman entering the café, glanced back in time to see Kurt's giggle, then with a quick wave, he left.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Happy Thanksgiving, all! Since I have a break from school and work, I should have the next chapter up by Monday at the latest. Thank you all so much for reading and your reviews – it really makes my day! Enjoy!

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><p>Kurt bit his lip, staring at his reflection with a slightly unsatisfied frown. It was his third <em>lunch date <em>- Blaine's words, not his - of the week, and his hair refused to do what he wanted, a problem he hadn't faced since middle school.

Things had been maddeningly perfect since their café date the week before. Blaine was true to his word, and starting over had provided them with irrefutable evidence that, eight years later, they were every bit as compatible as they'd been in college. More so, really. But Blaine, painfully wonderful Blaine with his downcast eyes and too long lashes and his blushes and sparkling grins - it was all too much to handle. _Just as friends,_ Kurt reminded himself for the hundredth time in the past week.

His cell phone started vibrating on the counter, and there was nothing Kurt could do to stop the fluttering feeling that arose. He grabbed it quickly, noting with an undeniable disappointment that it was Linda, his agent. "Hello?"

"Have I got news for you, Kurt," she said, her static-muffled voice leaking excitement. "I got a call. Remembering auditioning for the _Oklahoma _revival last month?"

"Yeah, but I thought you said they filled the part. Hasn't that already gone into rehearsals now?"

"It has and they did, but they weren't expecting their Will Parker to throw a diva fit, have a nervous breakdown, then quit. They're frantic now and they remembered your callback, so they want you to come into their rehearsal this afternoon and read with their Ado Annie and see where it goes from there, just an informal callback. He did let slip, though, that you're the only one they've called so far and they're hoping after you come by they won't have to look any further."

His head was reeling. "God, that's...that's great! What time?"

"I just got off the phone, and they said as soon as possible. So no worries, warm up, don't panic, but try to get over there before 2:00, okay?"

Kurt nodded, his throat a little dry, before remembering that his agent couldn't hear a nod over the phone. "Will do. Thank you so much, Linda."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Not at all, sweetheart. Break a leg!"

He hung up the phone quickly, taking a moment to squeal in excitement before typing a quick text to Blaine. _I'm going to have to bail on lunch today - emergency callback! Rain check?_

He strode over to the keyboard, giving himself a triad before launching into a vocalization exercise, climbing up and down scales deftly until his phone vibrated again. He opened the text quickly.

_Ooh, Mr. Hot-Shot Actor! Break a leg - what show is it for?_

_Oklahoma, _he typed. _They're looking for a replacement Will Parker._

It was only seconds until Blaine's response shot back. _Kurt Hummel the cowboy...shall I break out the _Brokeback Mountain _jokes or is it too soon?_

Kurt laughed aloud, rolling his eyes with a smile. _Too soon. Wait until I've got the part, then have at it._

_Deal_, read the response. _Let me know how it goes - and seriously, congratulations. You deserve it._

He grinned, setting down the phone and returning to his warmups.

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><p>"Okay, Kurt, let's run it from the top of the scene."<p>

He nodded. It was surprisingly intimate - Kurt, the director, the casting director, the accompanist, and the pretty brunette with the huge eyes playing Ado Annie were in a small rehearsal room. They'd gone through some quick blocking for the scene, a cute Act II exchange that led into a fun duet. The role he'd been called in for, Will Parker, was a fun one, a supporting character who provided a good deal of the show's comic relief. It was also a dance-heavy role, which excited Kurt immensely.

He started his lines, barely glancing down at the paper in his hands. That was one helpful thing about majoring in theatre - he'd done a semester-long directed study on the roles for tenors in Rodgers and Hammerstein shows, so he was well acquainted with the script and the score.

The rehearsal accompanist started, and Kurt fell into the song quickly. There was lots of interaction between him and his Annie - Meg, she'd called herself - and Kurt could tell without seeing it that they had great chemistry. It was effortless, as if they'd been rehearsing for ages. It felt wonderful.

They ended the song in each other's arms, a goofy smile on both their faces. "Great work, guys," the director said, shaking Kurt's hand tightly with a knowing smile. "We'll be in touch, okay? And Meg, thanks for sticking around to read with Kurt."

"No problem, Steve," she said, grabbing a duffel bag and her coat before waiting at the door for Kurt.

He hurried to join her, following her down the hallway and out onto the street. "Thanks for reading with me. You're a great Ado Annie."

She flashed him a bright white smile. "And you're phenomenal. Better than Jim ever was, I don't know why they didn't cast you in the first place." She was warm and cute and maternal, reminding him a bit of a college-era Rachel Berry. "In case you're wondering," she added, leaning in conspiratorially, "they haven't asked me to read with anyone else, so it looks like this was more or less a formality."

He bit back the grin trying to take over his face, telling himself without much enthusiasm not to get his hopes up, when his phone rang. "My agent," he explained breathlessly.

Meg nodded, watching his face light up as he obviously received the good news. "Oh my god, thank you so much," he squealed into the phone. He hung up quickly, falling into his new costar's arms and pulling her into a tight hug. "God, I can't believe it!"

"Congratulations," she said, patting his arm warmly. "I can't wait to start working with you! Is this your first role on Broadway?"

"Yeah," he breathed, completely flustered. "Been in the chorus a couple times, but never a role...shit, I've got to call Blaine!"

"Ooh. Boyfriend?"

He stopped his search through his contact list to look at her. "What?" he asked. "Oh, uh, no, not boyfriend. Friend."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like some friend if he gets the first call," she laughed. She held out a hand. "Well, it's been great meeting you, Mr. Hummel, and I look forward to our time working together."

"You too, dear!" He watched as disappeared down the street, glad he seemed to have made a friend in the person he'd spend the most time with on the show. He selected Blaine's name on his phone, ignoring Meg's comment, and bounced on his feet as the phone rang.

"Hey! How'd it go?"

Kurt grinned at the excitement in that voice. "Oh, I did okay, I think...I got the part!"

"Oh my god, baby, that's great!" There was a pause before both of them decided in sync to ignore the accidental term of endearment. "This calls for celebration. I'm cashing in the rain check, we're going out tonight."

He grinned, feeling the blush creeping up his face. "Where?"

"There's a bar a few blocks down from my school, it's classy and they usually have some kickass bands on Friday nights and they're got some surprisingly good food. Want to check it out?"

"A bar?" Kurt repeated cautiously. That was a far shot from their little lunch dates with chicken salad and safe conversations.

"Yes, a bar," and Kurt could hear that reckless, terrified sound he recognized immediately. "You've just scored a great role in a Broadway revival of the most iconic musical of all time. We're going out on the town tonight. Eight o'clock?"

He took a breath. "Yeah. Just text me the address, okay?"


	19. Chapter 19

The familiar dissonance of the opening eighth notes was instantly recognizable, and a swoop of nostalgia washed over both of them in the too-noisy bar. "Fuck, I love this song," Blaine said, bobbing his head slightly back and forth. Kurt raised an eyebrow at Blaine's uncharacteristically casual curse, but then again, he was already four drinks in. It was starting to affect the young professor visibly, whose familiar dorky dance moves were threatening to break free at any moment. This way, with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, he looked twenty again, the worried brow smoothing and the dark eyes sparkling.

"It's been ages since I heard it," Kurt admitted, laughing. "God, Blaine, we're _old. _When did they start playing songs we listened to in high school on retro night?"

"I don't know," Blaine laughed breathily, "I don't care. Dance with me."

Kurt blinked. "What?"

"Dance with me." Blaine was leaning in toward him, his breath hot against Kurt's ear. "Come on, baby, for old times' sake." He started singing along, his voice low and husky. "_I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down."_

Kurt looked up at Blaine, looming above him with an outstretched hand. He was beautiful this way - disheveled, crumbling, relaxed. He was also well on his way to being incredibly drunk. "I don't know that I can be seen dancing with you in this condition," he grinned.

"It's our _song, _Kurt, our _song_. Remember? _We can dance until we die, you and I will be young forever!" _He was dancing, now, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in time to the music.

"Blaine Anderson." Blaine stopped, Kurt's stern voice grabbing his attention. "I believe we established twelve years ago that our song was most definitely _not _Katy Perry."

A gleeful giggle spread across his face and into his voice. "Okay, not our song. Got it. Dance with me?"

How could he refuse?

Blaine pulled him up, out to the dance floor and there wasn't room for them, not really, so they were close and Blaine's breath ghosted over Kurt's neck as they tried in futility to find a comfortable position without being jabbed by the dancers around them. Kurt put as much distance as he could between them - Blaine was getting to the handsy stage of his intoxication.

Blaine seemed oblivious of anyone else in the room, singing at the top of his lungs just as he had the first time he'd ever seen Kurt, sloppily replicating the bits of Warbler choreography that alcohol and time hadn't blurred.

"Why are you so sober?" Blaine whined when Kurt burst out laughing at one of his less effective dance moves. "We're celebrating for you, Kurt, and you should be drunk, too! This isn't fair, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes but promised to take a shot when they stopped dancing, hoping that would get them off the dance floor. It didn't.

The upbeat song drew to a close, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. Making sure they remained firmly platonic, which had fallen exclusively on his shoulders as he was the sober one, was becoming increasingly frustrating and impossible when Blaine was serenading him with the song that brought them together to begin with.

"Come on, let's sit down," Kurt said, holding onto his elbow lightly as he attempted to guide him back to the bar.

But Blaine was resisting with a pout until the stereo began a slow, deep bass, reverberating with a purely sensual energy through the room. "I _love _this song, Kurt," and Kurt rolled his eyes. It was a song he'd never heard before, and from the way Blaine was murmuring slurred words together with the song under his breath, he could tell that Blaine hadn't, either.

"Sweetie, you love every song."

"I know," Blaine admitted with a goofy grin. But he turned around quickly, sliding close so Kurt was behind him, his hips swaying back and forth in a way that was unabashedly sexual. "Stay with me," he breathed, leaning his head back until he was resting on Kurt's shoulder.

The word _friend _rang through Kurt's mind over and over like a prayer, a mantra, an argument that was fading with each repetition. Blaine's body on his, Blaine's hand reaching around to caress his face, Blaine's voice doing that slightly slurred growl that he knows could make Kurt crumble - _friends, friends, friends._

When Blaine started to grind his hips backwards, feeling the swelling and the heat behind him with a too-loud moan, Kurt grabbed his hand, turning him around and putting a safe distance between them. "It's time to go," he said, wondering how exactly he'd managed to make his voice sound so stable and commanding and confident when that was the exact opposite of the way he felt.

Blaine just nodded, his dark eyes blown wide with lust and shock and giddiness and confusion and fuck, intoxication. He followed behind, clinging to Kurt's hand with a childlike vulnerability as he staggered through the bar's assorted other patrons.

The cold night greeted them with a burst as Kurt pushed outside and onto the windy sidewalk. He glanced around for a cab, but all of them seemed to be occupied. His eyes fluttered shut as he dropped his hand that was lingering intertwined with Blaine's. The chill of the night stung against his flushed skin, against everything that was too hot, too red, too Blaine.

"Are you mad at me now?" came a small voice from behind him. Blaine was staring at him blearily, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What?"

"You're mad because I'm...I'm really, _really _drunk. But you're not drunk. You never get drunk when we do this."

Kurt sighed, looking back at the road, the brightly lit cars zooming by with too much noise. "I'm not mad. I just...you've had enough," he finished lamely. "I'm getting you home."

"You're not mad?"

"No, sweetie," he said softly, biting his lip when Blaine curled into his shoulder with a sigh of relief. Hesitantly, he let his arm drift around Blaine's shoulders, feeling him shivering in the wind.

"I don't usually get this drunk," he murmured, his body melded against Kurt's as the young actor tried desperately to hail a cab without disturbing Blaine's obviously comfortable state. "I don't remember last time. I got nervous because you...you make me nervous."

A grungy yellow taxi finally slowed to a halt for them, and Kurt quickly and efficiently helped Blaine into the back seat, trying not to let the familiarity of the situation get to him. Blaine was drunk, and he would regret his clinginess and ramblings tomorrow. For now, all he could do was try to help.

He settled into the back seat beside Blaine, who resumed his place with his head on Kurt's shoulder, folding his feet up underneath him and nudging Kurt's arm back around his shoulder, looking strikingly childlike. "I do remember," he said, shooting up suddenly and instantly regretting it, wobbling until Kurt's steady hand guided him back to his spot.

"What do you remember?"

"The last time." His words were slurring together, the way they only did when he was _really _drunk - not Rachel Berry drunk, not Scandals drunk, but really, truly hammered. "It was when...when you left." A frown settled on the pretty, confused face. "You aren't gonna leave again, are you?"

The voice was so pitiful and so optimistic, so terrified and yet so very brave. The raised pitch, the blending letters swirling about, the blind faith meeting the absolute terror - and Kurt knew the answer to the question without thinking twice.

"Never."

* * *

><p>Kurt's hand shook with Blaine's keys in his grip, opening the door timidly. Blaine had fallen asleep quickly in the taxi, so getting him awake enough to climb the stairs had provided a challenge; getting him to stand up with Kurt half-dragging him proved to be one, too.<p>

He pushed the door open and nearly collided with a red-headed girl of about twenty on the other side. "Oh my god, Blaine?" she breathed, glancing at him and then at Kurt in terror. "Is he okay?"

"I - yeah, he's fine, he just had a little too much to drink," Kurt said, trying to figure out who exactly - she was here for Elizabeth. If Blaine was out, Elizabeth would have to have a babysitter.

She was still eyeing Kurt nervously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Blaine's friend," he said quickly, offering her a hand and a charming smile. "Kurt Hummel."

She shook it. "I'm Stacy Goldman," she said, looking a bit more relaxed. She glanced back at the man who was apparently her boss and who had apparently decided that sleeping on Kurt would suffice. "Should we get him in bed?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," Kurt murmured, shaking him slightly before sighing and gathering him in his arms, amazing at how little the shorter man still weighed after all these years. "Can you lead the way?"

Looking severely unnerved by the situation, Stacy nodded, walking quickly down the hallway and opening the second door on the left. She flipped a lamp on as Kurt set Blaine gently down onto the full-sized bed, and he took a second to admire the decor only after brushing the curls away from Blaine's damp forehead.

"Sorry if I seemed jumpy," Stacy said softly as Kurt carefully took off Blaine's oxfords, such an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "This is just nothing like him. I've been babysitting Lizzie for almost four years, and before that my mom babysat her, so she was always at our place. I've never seen him drunk before. God, he's never even come home this late before - he told me that he was going out with friends so he might be back a little later, but usually going out with friends for him consists of dinner with a couple of his colleagues, so I just wasn't expecting this." She paused, glancing at Kurt. "He also never has anyone with him. Blaine's typical Friday night consists of grading papers while watching Disney movies with Lizzie."

"Sounds like him," Kurt said with a quiet laugh, leaning against the wall.

Stacy's expression changed, hardened as she surveyed him. "Blaine and Lizzie have been a part of my life for a long time now," she said levelly. "Lizzie talked about you when she got back from Ohio. She said her dad asked her to stop talking about you, but when he wasn't there she would anyway. She said you and Blaine dated?"

Kurt wondered why exactly he was suddenly intimidated by the tiny babysitter. "Yeah. A long time ago."

"And now?"

"I...don't know."

"Hmm." She gave him a long evaluative glance. "From what I gather, you're the last person he dated before he stopped doing that all together. That tells me that you obviously fucked things up pretty bad. Blaine's a sweet guy, but he's not practical. He doesn't do the hard things in life; he'd rather let himself be walked on than stand up to someone he actually cares about." She looked at Blaine, drooling ever so slightly in peace on the pillow. "He's built a good life here with Lizzie. It might not look like what everyone else has, and it might not seem like much to someone like you, but he's happy, he's got a good job he loves and the sweetest daughter in the world and a life. And maybe it's not my place to say it, but don't fuck them up." She turned on her heel, treading softly towards the door when she stopped to flick off the lamp.

The sound from the bed was instantaneous. "Kurt?" came a frantic voice from the dark. "Shit, where'd you go?"

Kurt met Stacy's eyes, the hallway light reflecting on her pale skin, and they held each other's glance for a moment, a silent truce forming between them. She gave a small nod and disappeared, the sound of the door jingling faintly in the background. "I'm here, baby," Kurt said, sitting on the bed beside Blaine and laying a calming hand on his arm.

"Sleep here tonight?" he asked groggily, pulling Kurt's arms around him insistently.

He nodded, but barely. He pulled away from Blaine, receiving a whimper in response, and unzipped his boots, tossing them on the floor and folding his coat across the nightstand. He wrapped his arms back around the little man's frame, holding him close, closer than ever before, and wondering why he'd ever stopped holding him in the first place. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in eight years, he slept without dreams of loss.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Oh my gosh, I can't believe this story still has readers with the ridiculously random updates. I love all of you guys - thanks for your kind comments! Also, I'm out of school for the semester, so I may be a bit more consistent with new chapters. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy! Be warned. I get a little fluffy every now and then...

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><p>Kurt awoke with the immediate sensation of eyes on him. The soft blue light of dawn was shining faintly through the thin curtains. The sheets were smooth - Egyptian cotton, he recognized instantly - and smelled entirely of Blaine.<p>

_Blaine._Blaine was what was missing from the warmth and the softness and the scent of the bed. Kurt sat up, glancing to the corner of the room where Blaine sat on a stool, a soft black robe wrapped tightly around his body and dark circles under his eyes. "Hey," Kurt murmured, looking at him questioningly. "Were you uncomfortable?"

"No." Blaine wasn't meeting his eyes, and Kurt knew why. He knew the way Blaine's fingers drummed restlessly against his thigh, the way his curls told of hands running through them in frustration only moments ago, the set of his saw and that wrinkle in his chin. Kurt knew him.

He cast around, sitting all the way up and swinging his legs around the edge of the bed. "I think we should probably talk, Blaine. Just to make..."

"I think you should go." Blaine's eyes remained resolutely pinned on the floor.

Kurt's eyes shut for a moment. "Listen, Blaine, whatever you're thinking, it's not like that. It's not like anything happened..."

"That's bullshit, Kurt, and we both know it." Blaine looked up finally, their eyes locking together, the deep hazel housing more anguish than Kurt ever wanted to see. "A lot happened. I got drunk and made a complete ass of myself, hanging all over you and begging you to stay with me. We slept together like we _were_ together. I woke up in your arms." He shook his head. "Listen, I know it's all my fault. And I'm sorry, I knew going to the bar was a stupid idea. But I can't just do this, Kurt. I can't wake up in your arms like it means something then go back to being lunch buddies the next day. I just - you should leave."

Kurt stood up but didn't head towards the door. His eyes were locked on Blaine's. "Then let's not."

His brow furrowed. "Not what?"

"Keep doing this. Being together but just as friends." The words were broken and halting, but he didn't care. Any hope of eloquence was out the window. "I want to be with you," and the words were pouring out now. "Really be together. Be the way we should be if I hadn't fucked everything up, be together like we were when we were kids."

When Blaine looked up, Kurt saw the tears gathering in his lovely eyes. "It can't be like that anymore, Kurt," he said softly. "Everything's more complicated now than it was. We didn't have jobs, I didn't have a daughter..."

"Blaine, I love you." Somehow they were inches apart, their hands clinging together as though letting go would kill them. "We can sort all of that out later. I love you and I want to be with you and I'm just so tired of pretending I don't."

Blaine's hand, soft and steady, reached up, his fingertips gliding over the smooth ridge of Kurt's face. His eyes glowed with joy and terror and utter bliss. "Don't hurt me again, Kurt. Please."

"I won't," he whispered.

Blaine just nodded. "I love you, too." Blaine slid off the stool, leaning up to place a chaste, tentative kiss on Kurt's lips, the familiarity and perfection washing over them as Blaine's arms snaked around Kurt's neck, Kurt's hands resting on Blaine's hips, everything fitting together in absolute harmony. Blaine sighed against the smooth skin of Kurt's neck, a contented, melodic sound. "It's 5 a.m.," he breathed. "Lizzie will probably sleep for another two hours at the least. Can we just go back to bed?"

Kurt kissed the dark curls, holding Blaine tightly against him. "Whatever you want," he answered before smirking. "You're the one with the hangover."

Blaine laughed gently. "You know me so well." He wiggled out of Kurt's embrace, dropping his robe gracefully on top of a hamper in the corner. Kurt sighed as he looked at Blaine, so casual and lovely in his plaid lounge pants and nothing else. This was the way it should have been: Kurt and Blaine cuddling in bed together on a Saturday morning in their apartment with the kid sleeping in the room next door. It was everything Kurt had fled from; but as they settled back into the bed, skin upon skin, hands intertwined, gazing at each other with adoration, he realized it was all he'd searched for since the day he left.

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><p>When Kurt awoke again hours later, Blaine was sleeping still firmly wrapped in his arms, his head nuzzled against Kurt's smooth chest, a childlike smile on his lips. Kurt sighed, his long fingers gently making their way through the soft dark curls, massaging his - what, boyfriend? Were they boyfriends now? - <em>boyfriend's<em> scalp lovingly. He settled down, letting his eyes shut. There was no reason to move today.

He was roused quickly by the faint sound of the television on a few rooms away. Elizabeth. Elizabeth probably wasn't used to her dad sleeping in until - he glanced at the clock - 1 p.m. He looked down at the man in his arms, evaluating; Blaine had always been a heavy sleeper, so maybe he wouldn't notice. Very carefully, he moved away, pulling his arm slowly out from underneath the smaller man and tiptoeing to grab his shirt from the floor. He tossed it on and opened the door quietly.

He strode down the little hallway, taking in the apartment for the first time - last night he'd been too focused on getting the intoxicated Blaine in bed without being killed by an overprotective babysitter. It was obvious that the place had been tastefully decorated, the utmost in sophistication, at one point, but now there were finger paintings and macaroni art pieces and cards with lots of glitter that read "I love my dad!" littering the walls, the kitchen table, the refrigerator, everything. It was precious, heart-warming.

He saw Elizabeth sitting on the couch, half watching the TV while coloring from a Disney Princess coloring book - she was coloring Belle, Kurt noted with a grin. Suddenly, he was struck by the familiarity of it all. The sweet child sitting up doing artwork for the loving, overworked father, having to deal with the stress of being a single parent, not dating, not really spending much time with friends - living for and with his child with an insane amount of unconditional devotion and love. The parent who was always there for his child, whose first thought, even a few hours ago when propositioned with the idea of a relationship he'd missed for eight years, went to how it would affect his child. Never in his life had Kurt looked up to anyone the way he looked up to Burt; now, seeing the result of Blaine's parenting, he felt his eyes swim. Blaine was a great father.

Kurt cleared his throat softly, hoping not to alarm the child. Lizzie spun around, jumping off the couch with her thick eyebrows shooting up into her forehead in a look so Blaine-like Kurt had to stop himself from laughing.

"Kurt!" she squealed, running to him and throwing her arms around him. "Are you here to stay now? Daddy said not to talk about you, but I knew you'd be back."

"Oh?" Kurt asked, ruffling her dark curls. "Why's that?"

"Because Daddy's in love with you, and you're in love with him," she said matter-of-factly. "Anybody could see that."

He felt the smile cover his face. If adults could see thing as clearly as this precocious little girl, he'd have wasted a lot less time. "Yeah," he said softly. "Would that be okay with you, Lizzie? If I'm around a lot more?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in her clear little voice. "I want you to be. Are you Daddy's boyfriend again?"

"I hope so." He looked toward the bedroom, an idea sparking. "Your dad's still sleeping. Do you want to help me make him breakfast?"

A single raised eyebrow was all he needed to see the eight year old's disapproval. "It's one in the afternoon, Kurt," she reprimanded. "It's lunchtime."

He bit his lip, grinning. "I know, but let's do it. Just this once. I think your dad would like it." She gave a skeptical nod. "Okay. What sort of breakfast food does he eat these days?"

"Well, he likes Pop-Tarts," she said thoughtfully, and Kurt rolled his eyes. "But on Sunday mornings we make chocolate pancakes for me and cinnamon French toast for him. I guess it wouldn't hurt to make it on Saturday. But just this once!"

Kurt giggled, taking her hand and pulling her into the kitchen. "Just this once," he promised, pulling ingredients haphazardly from the cupboards, feeling strangely elated.

They worked together well - Kurt's culinary abilities had always been strong, even if he was a little out of practice, and Lizzie was not afraid to smack his hand away whenever he went to add extra ingredients to make it more gourmet. She was clearly a purist when it came to her breakfast foods. She was smart, too - it was obvious from talking to her, but working alongside her brought it into sharp focus. She had the recipes memorized, able to make the two batters easily without any help, only asking for help when it came using the stove - "Daddy doesn't let me do that part," she informed Kurt with a condescending roll of the eyes, as though her daddy were the silliest man in the world for trying to keep his second grader away from hot surfaces.

It was Lizzie who started flinging flour at her newfound friend, and maybe intellectually Kurt knew that he shouldn't lower himself to a food fight with a kid, but ten minutes, an egg, several cups of flour, and a stick of butter later, Kurt threw up his hands in surrender, laughing so hard his sides hurt as he wheezed out, "Truce, truce!"

"Kurt Hummel, why is my daughter covered in flour?"

Lizzie spun around gleefully, running to her father's outstretched arms and wrapping her legs around his waist as he picked her up, holding onto him tightly and subsequently covering him in the mess. "Me and Kurt made breakfast, Daddy," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Cinnamon French toast like you like."

"Well, that was awfully nice of you and Kurt, wasn't it?" He glanced at Kurt, a tentative expression on his face, as if to ask, _Is__ this __okay?_

"Oh, I see how you are, young lady," Kurt said immediately, his best offended face slathered on. "I have a great idea of something nice to do, and you take credit for it. I see."

She squirmed quickly out of her father's embrace and ran to Kurt. "You're silly," she said simply. "We did it together, fair and square. Just like I won our battle fair and square." She looked back at her father, slipping a hand into Kurt's. "Can he live here now, Daddy? I like him."

Blaine looked for a moment like he would reprimand her for asking, but one glance at Kurt's face quieted him. "No, sweetie, he can't live here," he said with a smile, "but maybe if we're lucky, Kurt will want to hang out here every once in a while."

Suddenly Kurt had four identical dark, soulful eyes trained on him expectantly. He squeezed Lizzie's hand, his eyes never leaving Blaine's. "I guess you're pretty lucky people, then."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **I just - words cannot possibly express how deeply sorry I am for the insane time gap in between updates on this story (apparently I last updated over 11 months ago, oh my god). I had abandoned it for a multitude of reasons, but the combined forces of a reignited readership in this story and the guilt of incompletion I had hanging over my head worked together to inspire me to finish it, only a year too late.

There will be another chapter that is already written that I will post in all likelihood tonight but at the latest tomorrow. After that, there will be either an epilogue or one more chapter and an additional epilogue - I keep going back and forth between whether or not the story is better with the inclusion of the chapter. After that, this will be finished.

I do want to thank those of you who have read this from the very, very bottom of my heart, especially my lovely tumblr anon(s?) whose encouragement and kindness definitely helped me push through, as well as all of you who have read and reviewed and favorited this story here. Your time and encouragement has meant the world to me, and I thank you so very, very much.

Without further ado, my friends, I hope you enjoy.

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><p>"A basketball game."<p>

The laugh on the other end of the phone was enough to put a grin on Kurt's previously skeptical face as he strolled away from his castmates in the hallway, hoping to get a little privacy before the rehearsal began. "Yes, Mr. Grumpy-Pants," Blaine giggled on the other end, "a basketball game. It's short, because they're in second grade, but let me tell you, they can get vicious."

"Well, with your daughter on the team I don't doubt that," Kurt answered. "She's a competitive little thing. You were never like that."

"Must be all that time she's spending with you," Blaine countered good-naturedly. "I mean, you should have _seen _the bitchface she gave me this morning when I asked if she'd made her bed. You're a corrupting influence, Kurt Hummel."

He had a point. In the month since they'd started dating – _officially _dating – Kurt and Elizabeth had been inseparable. Kurt picked her up from dance class when he got out of rehearsal and took her out for dinner (even though Blaine scolded him for spending all that food money when his pantry was fully stocked, thank you) and sometimes shopping (even though Blaine scolded him for spoiling his child rotten). They spent hours chatting away while they went out and about – Kurt teaching her which designers were perfect and which were tacky, Elizabeth opening a discussion of Andrew Lloyd Webber versus Stephen Sondheim which left Kurt delighted with the girl's intelligence and obvious good taste.

His relationship with her was in no way paternal, but he grinned every time she responded to her father with an obvious Kurt-influenced retort.

The doors to the rehearsal room were opened, and the other cast members started to gather their belongings. "I've got to go warm up. Count me in for Saturday – but be warned, I'm holding you personally responsible if this basketball game does not live up to the level of drama you claim. There best be catfights on the court, mister."

His laugh rang again, that sweet, melodic laugh that was tinged with the hint of a blush. "It's a date."

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><p>Kurt Hummel had dabbled in sports in his life – the month or so on the football team, the stint in Cheerios – but nothing could have quite prepared him for the circus of an elementary school basketball game.<p>

Lizzie and her teammates were the Athenians, their mascot an anthropomorphic book with eyes and a smile on their pale blue jerseys. "Interesting theme for a sports team," Kurt commented as he and Blaine climbed into the bleachers, careful not to spill the nachos and sodas Blaine insisted on getting (apparently it was part of the experience).

Blaine smiled, waving at Lizzie on the floor. "I liked it," he said, dipping a chip in cheese sauce so orange it could not possibly even resemble natural. "When I was looking at schools for Lizzie, I liked Prather because they have such an emphasis on the classics even from a young age – and besides, who's a better role model than Athena? She's the goddess of knowledge, Kurt, and she's a total badass."

"Blaine?" a female voice from behind them asked. They turned around and saw a friendly-looking man and woman about their age who both beamed at Blaine.

"Hey guys!" Blaine replied, enthusiastic as ever. "Sorry I didn't notice you when we sat down, I promise I wasn't trying to ignore you."

"Who's your friend, sweetheart?" the woman asked, peering at Kurt with barely-disguised glee.

Kurt watched the deep pink that set into Blaine's olive face. "God, sorry, Kurt Hummel, Matt and Cindy York. Matt and Cindy, Kurt."

Kurt took Cindy's then Matt's hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you both."

"Matt and Cindy are Jessica's parents – Lizzie told you about her friend Jessica, right?"

"She's number 16," Matt added proudly, pointing out a tall girl with strawberry blond hair that matched her mother's who seemed far more interested in finishing out her conversation with Lizzie than warming up with the team.

"Speaking of, Blaine, I'm glad we caught you. You and Elizabeth will still be able to come to Jessica's party on the nineteenth, right?"

"Absolutely." Kurt couldn't help marveling at the way Blaine seemed so natural in this atmosphere, chatting with people he probably met at a PTA meeting, friends by proxy due to their daughter's friendship. He knew that Blaine was a grown man and that he had a daughter, but it was strange to see him as a _parent_, someone who helped plan birthday parties and sat at basketball games. It was an odd, sensible detail, but it made him glance over at Blaine with newly-appreciative tenderness.

"Of course," Cindy was saying, a faux-innocent smile on her pretty face, "you'd be more than welcome to tag along if you're free, Kurt. Any friend of Blaine's is a friend of ours."

The blush in Blaine's cheeks had turned a deep maroon as he stood up quickly, ducking his head in that giddy, embarrassed way Kurt recognized from high school. "I'm going to grab some napkins," he announced. "Anybody need anything?"

"No thanks, doll!" Cindy answered, watching him amble down the bleachers before turning to Kurt, her dimples flashing. "I don't know who you are or if you're dating Blaine or how long you've known each other, Mr. Hummel, but that man is a _catch _and if you don't snap him up as soon as possible then you are missing out because Blaine Anderson is the best – "

"Oh my god, Cindy, don't harass him," Matt laughed, shooting an apologetic grin in Kurt's direction. "You've got to understand, Blaine is the sweetest person alive and we've never seen him bring a date to anything before. There's a whole group in our PTA that tries to set him up, but he always politely refuses."

"And you're just _beautiful,_" Cindy continued, surveying him. "It's no wonder he wouldn't take _our _dates when he has somebody like you lined up…"

Blaine slid in as Kurt had to stifle a laugh at their exuberance over their potential relationship. "You guys weren't talking about me, were you?" he grinned cheekily.

"Always am!" Cindy said brightly, and the harsh ring of the buzzer prevented further conversation.

In children's sporting events, Kurt observed, parents seemed to fall into certain behavioral patterns. Matt, behind them, was the backseat coaching parent – he yelled out instructions to his daughter the whole game; in fact, he seemed to think she was the only one playing, that she should hog the ball the whole game. Cindy, on the other hand, was the scary, aggressive parent – she was not afraid to scream at the other team for their slights against her baby's team ("God, were you all raised in a _barn?_" she shrieked after a particularly brutal foul in the first quarter), and there were a few times when Kurt was afraid she might jump over him and attack the tall center on the other team.

Blaine, of course, was just as he always was – kind, supportive, patient. He knew the name of every single one of Lizzie's teammates and called out gentle encouragements to them all equally ("good shot, Anna, you'll make it next time!"). He clapped amiably when the other team scored points, gaining glares from formerly sweet Cindy. Every time Lizzie went to shoot the ball, though, he fell silent and softly grabbed Kurt's hand, holding it for support as he failed to breathe until the ball had left his daughter's hands.

Lizzie, it seemed, was a great little player. She had the disadvantage of being the shortest one not only on her team but on the court, period, but she made up for it in speed, slipping deftly through the crowds attempting to block her as she scored point after point.

"Oh my god, Blaine," Kurt whispered, leaning over in the middle of the second quarter, "you didn't tell me your daughter was the superstar of the team!"

Blaine just beamed, his eyes glowing with pride as he looked back to the court. "Great form, Steph!" he called to the chunky brunette who seemed despondent at her missed shot. "Don't give up!"

Kurt just looked at him for a moment and knew, somehow, that this was something he could do. That somehow, this was always where he belonged, at Blaine's side. Blaine and Lizzie would be on the front row for opening night of _Oklahoma! _– of all his shows in the future. Kurt would throw Blaine a party when he became a tenured professor, glamorous and elegant – no, quaint and refined, the way Blaine would like it. They'd take turns picking Lizzie up from dance class and basketball practice, sit together at recitals and games and cheer her on. They would take their worlds and synthesize, make a life that would be theirs – favorite restaurants and bars and cafes and shops, together. Blaine would show up outside of rehearsals and Kurt would sneak into class and they would stay just as madly in love as they always had been. Lizzie would come to love Kurt – not as a father, maybe, but maybe something close.

His epiphany was interrupted by a collective gasp from the crowd. He whipped his head toward the court, seeing Elizabeth falling to the ground as a tall, aggressive player from the opposite team flew past her. Blaine was clutching his hand, his face pale as he craned his neck to see if she was all right. The referee blew his whistle loudly, extending a hand to the small girl and walking her to the bench before he called the foul.

Kurt felt the rage – and worry – boil up inside him and knew immediately that, given the chance, he definitely fit into the angry, screaming parent category with Cindy.

Elizabeth seemed to be all right, luckily, being sent back into the game shortly and running smoothly as though nothing had happened, continuing to shoot them into a wide victory, met with deafening screams from the parents behind him. As soon as the game was over, Elizabeth and her friend scaled the bleachers quickly to their parents and Kurt.

Lizzie threw her arms around Kurt before even acknowledging her father. "I'm so glad you could come!" she giggled, planting a kiss on his cheek before throwing a quick, "Hey Dad," over her shoulder.

"Me too, darling!" He set her down, tugging the dark curls of her ponytail playfully. "You didn't tell me you were amazing!"

She looked up at him with an eyebrow cocked. "I _assumed _it was implied," she answered, her imitation of Kurt obvious and perfectly-executed.

Beside them, Blaine was shaking his head, grinning ear to ear. "Well, are my two favorite people wanting dinner?"

Cindy cleared her throat jokingly behind him. "Well, your other three favorite people are getting pizza if you'd all like to join us!"

Blaine's eyes quickly shot to meet Kurt's, questioning. These weren't things they'd talked about yet – if they were ready for double dates, for family gatherings, for being together with other people. They weren't things that, truth be told, Kurt had thought about extensively. With other people came more responsibility, more commitment, more attachments to new parts of the other's life, and it was clear from the look in his eyes that Blaine was terrified still of asking Kurt for more of anything.

Kurt smiled back at him. "Pizza sounds great."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **Okay, but really, listen, guys. The fact that there are still people reading this a year later is so mind-blowing and I love you all so much. Thank you for your overwhelming encouragement and kindness.

Warning: that M rating finally comes to full fruition in this chapter. Be prepared. Also I'm super self-conscious about my smut-writing abilities, so please, any feedback on this particular chapter will be more than welcome, including constructive criticism.

Enjoy!

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><p>Blaine nuzzled into Kurt's shoulder, tucking his feet under him on the couch as he wiggled his way into Kurt's arms. "Thank you for coming to the game," he said, kissing his boyfriend's cheek. "It meant a lot to Lizzie."<p>

Kurt smiled. "I wouldn't have missed it."

Blaine grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table, offering Kurt a piece before feeding himself. One of the classic movie channels was playing _Oklahoma,_ and despite Kurt's loud and passionate protests the strains of the title song filled the little living room. "Is your Curly as dreamy as Gordon McRae?" Blaine asked, planting a prolonged kiss on the smooth skin where the chin met the neck.

Kurt's eyes fluttered shut at the contact. In the month since their reunion, they'd remained celibate. Blaine was still adjusting to the relationship, and though he hadn't quite admitted it, Kurt was too. But the unexpected intimacy of the gesture struck a suppressed nerve in him. He cleared his throat. "Nope, but our Will Parker's not too hard on the eyes."

Blaine giggled, scooting closer until their bodies were flush against each other. "Your Will Parker's gorgeous."

Kurt grinned, the arm draped around Blaine's shoulders moving to card the dark curls at the base of his neck as Blaine's nimble fingers drifted up to Kurt's collar and not-so-subtly unbuttoned the top three, caressing the pale collarbone and chest with an intoxicating laziness. "Blaine Anderson, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Mmhmm," he murmured, blithely moving to straddle his lap. "Is it working?"

Kurt nodded quickly, moaning as the smaller man crashed his lips into Kurt's, Kurt's arms tightening around his waist as Blaine's hand latched onto the back of Kurt's neck. Kurt felt a little ridiculous about the way his blood was pounding already, the way he seemed to lose himself in Blaine.

He pulled back after a moment, catching his breath. "Lizzie's just a room away."

Blaine laughed. "She's a heavy sleeper." His hands found their way back to the buttons of Kurt's shirt, undressing him slowly and deliberately. "Besides, I'm pretty sure it's not unheard of for people to have sex when their kids are asleep in the other room." He slipped his hands inside the rumpled shirt, rubbing the well-muscled shoulders languidly. "_I _think it's because we haven't had sex yet since we've been together, and you're running over some bullshit speech in your head about not pushing things with me. Am I right?"

He blushed, ducking his head with a smile. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean we have to do anything. Sex is – "

"Awesome. The word you're looking for here is awesome." Blaine's lips trailed down his neck, stopping to suck the lightest of marks on his collarbone. "I want you," he breathed, his eyes meeting Kurt's. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, baby, give me room to figure things out and all of that. But Kurt – I'm in. I'm ready."

Apparently not trusting Kurt to take the initiative even after his little speech, Blaine pushed him down onto the couch, bending over him to capture his lips in a raw kiss, his fingers raking through the carefully styled hair. Kurt's arms found their way around Blaine, and he gently explored the warm flesh under the hem of the soft gray t-shirt, venturing occasionally into the waistband of his exquisitely tight jeans. He felt Blaine, half-hard against his thigh and rutting ever so subtly against him when Kurt slid his hands to Blaine's sides, pulling him down so their hips met hard, eliciting a breathy moan from Blaine. Kurt sat back up to jerk Blaine's shirt off while Blaine whined into the kiss, grinding down onto Kurt's lap.

"Bedroom," Blaine panted, groaning in appreciative surprise when Kurt dug his fingers into the firm flesh of Blaine's ass as he lifted him off the couch and carried him to the room, the smaller man digging his heels into Kurt's sides and sucking on the delicate earlobe. Kurt closed the door behind them quickly before slamming Blaine up against it, their hips rutting together frantically as their lips found each other's roughly.

"God, Kurt, do you know how much I've wanted it?" Blaine whispered as he pulled away for air, his fingers digging into Kurt's shoulders. His voice was low, low and so very different than its usual cheerful sing-song. "Do you know how much I get off on it, the thought of you fucking me? Do you know how much I've missed it?"

Kurt moaned. God, it had been over ten years since he'd heard that growl, the insistence on the dirtiest phrasing, the look of arousal as Blaine worked himself up with his words. He slid one hand down Blaine's bare stomach between them to unbutton Blaine's jeans, giving himself enough room to roughly palm Blaine through his briefs. "I've missed making you scream," he breathed in return. Two could play this game.

"I've missed blowing you, the way your come tastes on my lips."

"I miss licking my come out of you and watching you get hard again from fucking you with my tongue."

Blaine giggled breathlessly at that, his honey eyes sparkling in that long-forgotten medley of arousal and affection. "We're not eighteen anymore, Kurt, you may want to lower your expectations just a tad." He bit his lip as Kurt managed to shove Blaine's jeans down enough to pull out his cock and take him in hand. "I miss the way you make me feel helpless and safe at the same time." He placed a short kiss on the tip of Kurt's nose and wiggled down to stand on his own, still pressed to the door. "You're far too clothed."

He unzipped Kurt's slacks with insufferable leisure, stepping out of his own jeans and briefs quickly. He worked Kurt's pants off, kissing every bit of exposed skin with tantalizing ease as he sank to his knees. He nuzzled into Kurt's thigh, tilting his face to mouth at Kurt's dick, still covered. Tentatively, teasingly, he pulled the briefs off, placing burning, fleeting kisses along Kurt's perfectly pronounced hipbones.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" he asked suddenly, leaning back a little to survey his boyfriend, hair mussed, button-down shirt open but still on. He let his fingers trail down Kurt's abs, just taking him in for a moment before the hand reached his cock, pumping gently as he began gingerly licking at the head.

"You are, too," Kurt whimpered, his voice rising as he caught Blaine's wide eyes staring up at him with Kurt's cock in his mouth. "God, you're so beautiful, Blaine," he gasped as Blaine gradually became more aggressive, hollowing his cheeks and moving in earnest. "So good, baby."

The vibrations from Blaine's moan at the praise shot through Kurt's cock, causing him to echo the sound. Lovingly, his fingers found their way to Blaine's curls – not pushing, just encouraging, appreciative, massaging his scalp tenderly.

Blaine pulled off after a few minutes, standing up and slotting his lips against Kurt's in a slow, deliberate kiss. His arms drifted into Kurt's shirt, the smooth cotton cool against his skin as he pushed it off, the last piece of clothing gone between them. "I love you," he whispered. His head fell onto Kurt's chest, and they stood together, content to hold each other.

"I love you, too." Kurt kissed his curls. "I'm yours."

Blaine kissed the side of his neck gently before breaking apart, walking toward the bed and offering Kurt his hand. "Join me?" he quipped with a hopeful grin.

Kurt laughed, lying beside him on the bed and kissing him slowly, shifting when Blaine wriggled underneath him. "Can I have your fingers?" Blaine asked softly, sounding almost shy.

Kurt nodded, running a light hand down Blaine's side. "Lube?"

"The basket under the bed." Blaine looked at Kurt in time to see his raised eyebrow and look of amusement at its ease of access and laughed with a hint of a blush. "So it gets a lot of use. Sue me."

Kurt emerged with the basket in question, pulling out the bottle and warming the liquid in his hand before gently circling Blaine's tight hole, kissing the crease of his thigh as he eased in the tip of a finger. Blaine let out a breath, reaching out to caress Kurt's neck. "I love this."

Kurt kissed him, letting the finger slide in further, exploring gently. "I love you."

Blaine nodded, biting his lower lip as his hips eased onto the hand. "More."

Kurt added a second finger, giving Blaine a moment to adjust before he began curling and scissoring the fingers inside him, seeking out all the familiar little spots that had driven Blaine crazy years ago, peppering gentle kisses all over his body as Blaine fucked himself back on the fingers, panting for _more _and _faster _and _please, Kurt._

Not long after Kurt moved to add a third finger, though, Blaine pulled away, scrambling onto his knees on the bed and pressing Kurt down onto the mattress as he quickly rolled a condom onto Kurt with a copious amount of lube. He swung a leg over Kurt waist and positioned himself above Kurt. "Are you sure you're ready?" Kurt asked, stroking his hipbone lightly.

He nodded. Deftly, he began lowering himself onto Kurt's cock, his head thrown back as beautiful little sounds escaped him.

Kurt stared at the man above him, at the way his eyes fluttered as he rode him, the way he bit his lip when he caught himself being too loud, the way he reached down to grasp Kurt's hand as they moved together, their eyes locking as they moved in sync. There were tears glittering in Blaine's eyes, tears of overwhelming emotion, and Kurt wasn't even surprised when he felt them answering in his own eyes. He reached up his free hand to drag his thumb along Blaine's cheek, pulling him softly into a kiss. "I love you, Blaine."

"I love you." The words were barely audible, but they were enough.

They moved together, rediscovering their experiences of pleasure. Every touch was lightning and gentle rain, earth-shattering and tranquil, full of urgency and languid all at once. They stayed entangled forever and not nearly long enough, Kurt's hand reaching between them to stroke Blaine lovingly in rhythm until gasping and whimpering and crying they came together, rocking together through the waves as Blaine melted into Kurt, sweating bodies melding as they held each other, their ragged breathing slowing down in perfect unison.

Blaine kissed Kurt's forehead reverently, brushing back his hair gently before gingerly pulling away, hissing at the sudden emptiness. Kurt discarded the condom quickly, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom and wetting it before returning to the bed and carefully wiping the warm come from Blaine's stomach while Blaine lazily rubbed his back, his eyes drifting shut. Kurt tossed the towel away, encircling Blaine and holding him close, the dark curls falling onto Kurt's chest just like they did years ago as their legs tangled together.

Finally, Blaine broke the silence, his voice quiet but sure. "It's real this time, isn't it?"

And in a moment, Kurt knew. This is how it would be: days full of balancing work and time with Lizzie, having to schedule dates because they might not see each other otherwise. There would be family outings with people like Matt and Cindy and their daughter, PTA meetings on nights when his show was dark, taking Lizzie to his ballet technique classes when she had a day off of school. There would be picnics in the park and hot days of packing all of his things into this apartment that honestly wasn't big enough for the three of them _and _Kurt's wardrobe. There would be the hassle of splitting time with both families over the holidays. There would be inconveniences, interruptions, complications in his daily routines that he so loved. There would be fights with Blaine and teenage rebellion with Lizzie and days when Kurt just really needed his space. Blaine and Lizzie would be there to crowd him, to force him to care about things other than, bigger than himself. And at the end of those days, it would just be Kurt and Blaine, cuddled in bed together, their bodies still aligning like the puzzle pieces they sang about when they were young. They would talk about their day or they would fuck or they would play around or they would eat ice cream in bed and make plans for all the things they still wanted to do in their lives. They would go gray (Blaine first, there was already some silver around his temples) and Kurt would get wrinkles and they would grow old together, just as they'd always planned.

Kurt tightened his hold, pulling Blaine a little closer as he kissed him deeply. "It's real."


End file.
